(no subject)
flashfic drabble dump, pt.1
my collection of old, unposted responses to the prompts found at dbsk_flashfic. i've been meaning to dump these here for a while - and in all my, um, haste to do so, i found even more. like wow. i didn't even realize.
this is the first half of them. genres + pairings vary; all are respectively tagged and can be easily skimmed through to avoid pairings that make your eyes bleed. so, yay for that. (comments are appreciated.)
arranged by; pairing | prompt | genre | rating | words
2915 WORDS TOTAL
jaechun;
deadlines, humor, g (517 words.)
Jaejoong stresses about college papers in a way no one else stresses about college papers. The day he's informed of their far-away arrival, he takes out every book that he thinks might even be slightly related to the topic, writes four different rough drafts in one night, burns his way through seven packs of lined binder-paper, and then tells everyone he runs into the, "those, oh yeah, I'm probably not going to get it done until the night of, haha, yeah, so unprepared," so no one side eyes the fuck out his eccentric self. Days before the booming due date, he spends every waking moment thinking about the fact that he hasn't finished them yet, and how bad it's going to be when he doesn't finish them, and rolls out of bed in the morning with every possible scenario scrolled in black lines under his eyes. Two days prior, he obsesses about the topic, reads everything he can get his hands on that's relevant, skips breakfast and lunch and dinner and phone calls from family and bowel movements and showers so he can lay on the floor and roll around in pure mental agony of how much it's all going to suck, and how he's going to fail, and then he sets himself up to pull and all nighter, drinks about a hundred red bulls to psych himself up, and falls asleep with his chin on his desk and his fingers in the carpet.
And then wakes up roughly around three in the morning with the most insane buzz he's ever had, flies through all of his rough drafts, and finishes the paper in half an hour. And then he lays awake, mentally pulling through every word he'd written until he has the damned thing memorized, and then hands the paper in to his teacher with shaking fingers and sweaty palms and a near-hysterical, "I think I did alright but I might not of in which case hahahahahaha I'm going to implode in on myself and the dark matter remaining from the implosion will create a black hole the size of Texas that will pull every living being and their dog into it's ever hungering darkness-"
Three weeks later, his teacher will smile at him, say, "As expected, Jaejoong," and hand him back his paper with a brand new red 95% and smiley-face on it.
And his roommate knows this, which is why Jaejoong cannot possibly comprehend why Yoochun is looking at him expectantly from the doorway, the day of his massive red-bull-induced-all-night-revision-ceremony.
"Clubbing," Yoochun says. "Girls."
"Yoochun, are you on crack, you stupid stupid stupid blob of stupid?! Do you know what night it is?"
Yoochun blinks. "Clubbing night," he says slowly. "With girls."
Jaejoong sits up off of the floor and waves his arms around unnecessarily. "Yoochun! I can't! I have a hundred million deadlines tomorrow and I'm going to fail and my head will implode in on itself and the resulting dark matter will create a black hole the size of Texas that will-"
"Deadlines," Yoochun interrupts. "As opposed to living lines?"
Jaejoong hits him.
leave, general/angst, pg (317 words.)
His first impression of Jaejoong was poor - literally. He was squatting on the sidewalk next to the welfare clinic, tattered hat bottoms-up by his feet. Matted and greasy, the hair was at ends with itself; the one half reaching skyward and the other, hanging limp and heavy.
Yoochun dropped a fifty into the hat just to see what would happen. The boy had muttered a jaded 'thank you,' only to sputter when the number synthesized. He looked up to meet Yoochun's stare with baffled eyes. There was dirt on his nose. Yoochun grinned.
"Jaejoong," was the name he was given, sitting across from the kid at a diner a block off from his plot of beggars-land - it had been rushed out between a spoonful of soup and a fierce chomp out of a bun. Yoochun watched him eat, fingers threaded together on the tabletop.
"I have an extra room," he offered. Jaejoong followed him home like a lost puppy.
He cleaned up nice - after a shower and a clean change of clothes, he looked like any other kid his age. A little on the thin side, but otherwise average. He had a pretty little face and cleaned to show his gratitude. The meshed, they molded - days passed; weeks, months. Jaejoong befriended the hired help and rolled around on the lawn and sang to the flowers when he had the time.
But he wasn't a free loader, and he wasn't the type to commit to anything. Jaejoong moved like the wind (free spirited and limitless,) going wherever his feet would take him, and Yoochun woke one morning with his wallet gone and Jaejoongs shoes missing from the doormat. Even with the boy no where in sight, the image of his back fading down the highway was on the backs of Yoochuns eyes.
Yoochun sat at the window and watched him leave for days.
thread, romance/angst, pg (178 words.)
(who breaks the thread, the one who pulls, or the one who holds on?)
Yoochun wants everything for them; he envisions it in the park as he waits, they will have cities and tourists and family and friends at their feet, popping gum and taking photos of their marvelous love.
(week one: yoochuns roommate nervously confesses and yoochun hugs him.
week two: kids across the street sell thin warn bracelets; yoochun buys two and ties them around their wrists, humming, "we'll be together until they wear off."
week four: jaejoong forgets he has work and stays in bed with yoochun all day.
week seven: they go to the fair; jaejoong fails at carnival games.
week nine: jaejoong's pastry-instructor sees the bracelet as a cooking hazard and makes him cut it off.
week thirteen; one of the zoo-pandas steal yoochuns sweater off of him when he poses for a picture by the cage.
week twenty: they celebrate week twenty.
week thirty-nine: yoochun discovers how adorable jaejoong is in the morning.
week forty-eight: yoochun surprises jaejoong with a birthday cake and edible panties.
week fifty-three: jaejoong isn't impressed with yoochuns leg hair.
week eighty-two: jaejoong finds someone else.
week eighty-two and a half: jaejoong tells yoochun it's over at the park.)
jaemin;
running home, general/horror, pg (79 words.)
Changmin taps his nails impatiently on his knee, running through a mental check list.
1. Long wig (Red)
2. Concealer
3. Train ticket (JeonJu, one-way.)
4. Pocket money ($100)
5. Disposable cellphone
6. Mothers address (JeonLa BokDo, JeonJuSsi A.P.T 106-1502)
7. Sandwiches (3,) Juice boxes (2)
8. Spare pair of; Jeans (1,) Shirt (1,) Socks (2,) Briefs (2)
The terminal voice announces the arrival of his train, and Changmin erects his trembling spine, fights the urge to readjust his wig, and readies his tickets. Jaejoong won't know where he's gone (he hopes.)
walking out, romance/horror, pg-13 (223 words.)
it's funny how beautiful people are when they're walking out the door
(companion piece to running home)
One bottle, two bottle, three bottle; six.
Jaejoong made himself a kings crown out of broken windows and nail clippings. He rolled onto his back and laughed at the bumps on the ceiling, and the spider nest he promised Changmin he'd get rid of (he covered it in duct tape and waited and waited, and left it and waited some more, till whatever was living beneath it once had turned to ash and dust.) He stood on their bed and fought the urge to break himself to pieces. (Seven bottles of soju, one of whiskey; hide himself under the floorboards and wait for rain so his roots could grow to cover the entire apartment.)
Their relationship wasn't golden - he knew that. They didn't mix well enough, they were too unstable, too raw, too brash. Or, he was all those things, and Changmin was just young and trusting (and warm and pliable.) And maybe he loved the boy too much, held him too long, until he was suffocating under that passion, and Jaejoongs kisses left violets blooming on Changmins cheeks. But to be gone, to leave, to bring nothing with him to remind himself of his years with the older man. (Another bottle of soju; cracking opened the precious hitskicksandiloveyous wine.)
Jaejoong loved all that he owned too much to simply let go.
jaesu;
recurring, romance/horror?, pg-13 (271 words.)
(companion piece to we have the trees.)
He's running, barefoot, just running and running, and around him is nothing but whiteness, and he can smell something like yeast, or freshly baked bread, but the air is cold cold cold.
Blood is pounding in his ears, light is escaping from his pores, and his very being is being absorbed by the whiteness. The light is escaping him and rushing out of his system, and with every molecule of brightness the pushes passed his fleshy boundaries, the absence of being around him expands and grows, a large demon becoming larger and larger.
And he runs, away from the light, away from the white, aiming towards the one comforting area of darkness that he can barely see anymore; he runs and runs and his body is caving in on itself like a blow up doll losing air, and then, mere feet away from the sanctuary, his ankles melt to butter and he collapses, flat and airless against the nothingness.
He floats like a feather for years, until his face his grasped in calloused fingers, and lips meet his fingers, blowing the UV back into him. The crusts over his eyes crack and fall off and he curls his arms around his warm hero - the man with crinkling eyes and soft hair.
"And then what happens?" the faceless woman asks, gleaming spectacles erasing her face. She taps her pen once on her notepad, scrutinizing him under the harsh office light. Junsu squirms, cracks his wrists. The dream whirs on, film projected on the backs of his eyelids. He can almost feel the teeth in his neck.
"And then he eats me."
jaesuchun;
intersections, romance/angst, pg-13 (133 words.)
Don't make me come after you, don't make me, I couldn't take it, I can't take anything anymore, don't make me have to come after you this time-
is a never ending tick on the office wall, on and on and on until Junsu can barely stand to hear it anymore. Jaejoong kisses his forehead and rubs his thighs and the tick burrows into the blossoming heat of his skin.
Don't make me love you like this, I really wasn't made for it, I wasn't, I wasn't and I can't - Jaejoong, what about him, what about Yoochun-
is a web-toed, croc footed, hairy legged stranger standing on the edges of their serenity. He stares, he gapes, he burns, but he doesn't say sorry.
(Junsu thinks; we don't know the meaning of sorry.)
junsu-centric;
drive, humor, pg (489 words.)
(have to drive, amanda palmer.)
"Well shit," is Yoochuns glorious contribution to the situation. Junsu pulls at his hair and almost has a panic attack - his headlights are shattered, and he's pretty sure that's blood staining his jeans. Blood or urine. He may have wet himself upon impact.
"There were deer crossing signs," Changmin says smugly. "I told you."
"Why would a deer be walking around an unlit highway in the middle of the night," Junsu rambles hysterically. "It doesn't make sense - don't they sleep?"
Jaejoong walks around the car to inspect it; one of the tires is toast, the headlights are out, and the front bumpers warped. "Yikes," is all he says.
Junsu squats on the ground and rolls on his heels as Yunho surveys the collateral damage. He mutters a number under his breath and Junsu can literally feel the debt eating away at his bank account and future paychecks.
The other four fall silent, and the quiet almost kills him. "What do we do?" he whispers, frantic, fingers grasping and pulling at his hair. He's going to get such a talking to. He's going to lose his licence. He'll never be able to deal with the guilt.
Yunho starts pulling the carcass off of the road, tugging pathetically on one of the legs, and Jaejoong quickly comes to help him. Yoochun peeks between the deers cooling toes (because someone once told him the fur between them was green, and he has to check.) "Well, whattaya know," he marvels, before helping Yunho tug the thing off of the road.
They manage to get it off of the road and into the ditch, while Changmin leans on the hood of the car and sifts through Junsu's insurance manual. Yoochun and Yunho wipe their hands on their jeans and come to peek over his shoulder as Jaejoong walks around the fallen creature curiously.
"Well, you're out of luck," Changmin says, smacking the book closed. "Insurance doesn't cover wildlife. Too bad you didn't hit a phone pole."
"Sure he did," Yoochun says. "There was a big ole phone, just chilling here in the middle of nowhere."
Yunho rubs his forehead, irritated. "There's blood on the car," he says in his big bag leader-voice. Junsu is expecting a lecture on the merits of honesty. Instead, Yunho says; "We'll have to spray it off before we take it into a shop. They aren't stupid. We have bottles of water in the trunk."
Junsu stares in disbelief as Yoochun nods and heads for the trunk. The lying guilt settles into his gut, and he starts to feel like his uncle, who, according to his father, would lie his way around and out of anything. Junsu wonders if it's hereditary.
This is when Jaejoong returns from his bonding with the animal corpse, gravity pulling on his lips. "She's a she," he says, pondering. "I wonder if she had any babies."
The guilt threatens to eat Junsu alive.
acting, angst, pg-13 (132 words.)
junsu is a tiny being of over-condensed milk powder, ready for a enduring gust to wither him to rag and bone. (ready for a silver-voiced lover to dip him into their coffee.)
and he says, "i don't want it, i don't i don't," as if it'll stop anything; stop forceful hands and hardened finger tips. (stop i love you's and i'm sorry's and i'll never again's.)
junsu is a tiny milk-soldier in a strangers clothing. clothing too big, too small, but the important thing is that no one seems to notice. so he throws his head back and laughs and sings until his voice comes out red and warm in his palms. (and at night, it's a hush and a stroke and a no one notices, oh my god no one cares.)
yunho-centric;
monday, angst, pg (222 words.)
(companion piece to acting)
Leader-ssi might as well translate to Watcher-ssi. He's the man that stands along the sidelines of the band and witnesses the wearying tilt to their heads. He's the man that holds back just enough of himself to have room for everyone else. He's the man that wears the fakest face to legality, and warmest to people. He's the man that pulls Jaejoong back when he's running too far, and pulls Yoochun up when he's running too far down - the one that pulls Changmin back from all of the things he'd love to say but never should. Even at seventeen on a show bank stage at the beginning of his legacy, he was the man that held them up and together.
Junsu has never been a problem. Junsu never smokes like a dying flame; never falls flat on his face when his feet give out under him; is never overcome by teal-cynicism and malice. Yunho doesn't know how to handle a grieving Junsu. And when the younger boy gradually pales and slims and hides in the apartment bathroom with a stuttering cry, Yunho sits outside the door and listens, and wishes he had a wick to burn his skin.
(That's the thing about flames, Jaejoong mumbled once, drunk off his ass. No one wonders where they go. When they're gone, they're gone.)
changmin-centric;
quiet world, general/angst, g (131 words.)
( the quiet world, jeffrey mcdaniel)
Changmin spends his days in silence. While some chat and banter until their reserve runs dry, he instead chooses to live in quietude. The chatter in his work place and the cafes he eats in keep him aglow with life and sociability. He points at menus and communicates with as much movement as possible, when he has to.
Changmin doesn't have friends, or family, or anyone worth talking to, really. He gets up in the morning alone, and falls to his stiff mattress at night with no one by his side. He has no one to talk to.
But the words don't accumulate; you have an allotted amount each day, everyday, and words unsaid don't carry over. Not one to be wasteful, Changmin develops the habit of talking in his sleep.
madness, horror, pg-13 (233 words.)
Changmin wakes up without the slightest inclination where he is. In his car, somewhere, just off a dirt path - decrepit trees out the window plane, held up against a canvas of expired colours. He sits straight and groans at the tensing in his back and neck; rolls his spiritless muscles back to life. His clothes smell smokey and stiff.
He isn't sure why he grabs his camera phone, recording his shaking fingers opening the car door. It feels right, feels safe. He stumbles out, filming his surroundings. The frigid air inhales his entire being, smoking ashen footprints onto his skin. The branches sway in the no-wind and Changmin catches the barest glimmer of a pallid figure in the shrouded distance, naked and thin. He focuses his camera as the man moves, comes closer, barest anatomy grey-washed in the fog.
Moving towards him.
An unbearable panic settles along his stomach lining. Changmin doesn't need to understand the unsettling burn as he slams the door behind him and revs the engine, backing out of the obscured shoulder onto the paved highway. The shadow looms at his window just as he shifts into drive.
A mile off, Changmin is a shifting figure of paranoid eyes, switching between the rear-views. Yellow lines disappear under the fog in the distance - he presses his palms flat against the wheel, mind left entirely empty under the morning haze.
my collection of old, unposted responses to the prompts found at dbsk_flashfic. i've been meaning to dump these here for a while - and in all my, um, haste to do so, i found even more. like wow. i didn't even realize.
this is the first half of them. genres + pairings vary; all are respectively tagged and can be easily skimmed through to avoid pairings that make your eyes bleed. so, yay for that. (comments are appreciated.)
arranged by; pairing | prompt | genre | rating | words
2915 WORDS TOTAL
jaechun;
deadlines, humor, g (517 words.)
Jaejoong stresses about college papers in a way no one else stresses about college papers. The day he's informed of their far-away arrival, he takes out every book that he thinks might even be slightly related to the topic, writes four different rough drafts in one night, burns his way through seven packs of lined binder-paper, and then tells everyone he runs into the, "those, oh yeah, I'm probably not going to get it done until the night of, haha, yeah, so unprepared," so no one side eyes the fuck out his eccentric self. Days before the booming due date, he spends every waking moment thinking about the fact that he hasn't finished them yet, and how bad it's going to be when he doesn't finish them, and rolls out of bed in the morning with every possible scenario scrolled in black lines under his eyes. Two days prior, he obsesses about the topic, reads everything he can get his hands on that's relevant, skips breakfast and lunch and dinner and phone calls from family and bowel movements and showers so he can lay on the floor and roll around in pure mental agony of how much it's all going to suck, and how he's going to fail, and then he sets himself up to pull and all nighter, drinks about a hundred red bulls to psych himself up, and falls asleep with his chin on his desk and his fingers in the carpet.
And then wakes up roughly around three in the morning with the most insane buzz he's ever had, flies through all of his rough drafts, and finishes the paper in half an hour. And then he lays awake, mentally pulling through every word he'd written until he has the damned thing memorized, and then hands the paper in to his teacher with shaking fingers and sweaty palms and a near-hysterical, "I think I did alright but I might not of in which case hahahahahaha I'm going to implode in on myself and the dark matter remaining from the implosion will create a black hole the size of Texas that will pull every living being and their dog into it's ever hungering darkness-"
Three weeks later, his teacher will smile at him, say, "As expected, Jaejoong," and hand him back his paper with a brand new red 95% and smiley-face on it.
And his roommate knows this, which is why Jaejoong cannot possibly comprehend why Yoochun is looking at him expectantly from the doorway, the day of his massive red-bull-induced-all-night-revision-ceremony.
"Clubbing," Yoochun says. "Girls."
"Yoochun, are you on crack, you stupid stupid stupid blob of stupid?! Do you know what night it is?"
Yoochun blinks. "Clubbing night," he says slowly. "With girls."
Jaejoong sits up off of the floor and waves his arms around unnecessarily. "Yoochun! I can't! I have a hundred million deadlines tomorrow and I'm going to fail and my head will implode in on itself and the resulting dark matter will create a black hole the size of Texas that will-"
"Deadlines," Yoochun interrupts. "As opposed to living lines?"
Jaejoong hits him.
leave, general/angst, pg (317 words.)
His first impression of Jaejoong was poor - literally. He was squatting on the sidewalk next to the welfare clinic, tattered hat bottoms-up by his feet. Matted and greasy, the hair was at ends with itself; the one half reaching skyward and the other, hanging limp and heavy.
Yoochun dropped a fifty into the hat just to see what would happen. The boy had muttered a jaded 'thank you,' only to sputter when the number synthesized. He looked up to meet Yoochun's stare with baffled eyes. There was dirt on his nose. Yoochun grinned.
"Jaejoong," was the name he was given, sitting across from the kid at a diner a block off from his plot of beggars-land - it had been rushed out between a spoonful of soup and a fierce chomp out of a bun. Yoochun watched him eat, fingers threaded together on the tabletop.
"I have an extra room," he offered. Jaejoong followed him home like a lost puppy.
He cleaned up nice - after a shower and a clean change of clothes, he looked like any other kid his age. A little on the thin side, but otherwise average. He had a pretty little face and cleaned to show his gratitude. The meshed, they molded - days passed; weeks, months. Jaejoong befriended the hired help and rolled around on the lawn and sang to the flowers when he had the time.
But he wasn't a free loader, and he wasn't the type to commit to anything. Jaejoong moved like the wind (free spirited and limitless,) going wherever his feet would take him, and Yoochun woke one morning with his wallet gone and Jaejoongs shoes missing from the doormat. Even with the boy no where in sight, the image of his back fading down the highway was on the backs of Yoochuns eyes.
Yoochun sat at the window and watched him leave for days.
thread, romance/angst, pg (178 words.)
(who breaks the thread, the one who pulls, or the one who holds on?)
Yoochun wants everything for them; he envisions it in the park as he waits, they will have cities and tourists and family and friends at their feet, popping gum and taking photos of their marvelous love.
(week one: yoochuns roommate nervously confesses and yoochun hugs him.
week two: kids across the street sell thin warn bracelets; yoochun buys two and ties them around their wrists, humming, "we'll be together until they wear off."
week four: jaejoong forgets he has work and stays in bed with yoochun all day.
week seven: they go to the fair; jaejoong fails at carnival games.
week nine: jaejoong's pastry-instructor sees the bracelet as a cooking hazard and makes him cut it off.
week thirteen; one of the zoo-pandas steal yoochuns sweater off of him when he poses for a picture by the cage.
week twenty: they celebrate week twenty.
week thirty-nine: yoochun discovers how adorable jaejoong is in the morning.
week forty-eight: yoochun surprises jaejoong with a birthday cake and edible panties.
week fifty-three: jaejoong isn't impressed with yoochuns leg hair.
week eighty-two: jaejoong finds someone else.
week eighty-two and a half: jaejoong tells yoochun it's over at the park.)
jaemin;
running home, general/horror, pg (79 words.)
Changmin taps his nails impatiently on his knee, running through a mental check list.
1. Long wig (Red)
2. Concealer
3. Train ticket (JeonJu, one-way.)
4. Pocket money ($100)
5. Disposable cellphone
6. Mothers address (JeonLa BokDo, JeonJuSsi A.P.T 106-1502)
7. Sandwiches (3,) Juice boxes (2)
8. Spare pair of; Jeans (1,) Shirt (1,) Socks (2,) Briefs (2)
The terminal voice announces the arrival of his train, and Changmin erects his trembling spine, fights the urge to readjust his wig, and readies his tickets. Jaejoong won't know where he's gone (he hopes.)
walking out, romance/horror, pg-13 (223 words.)
it's funny how beautiful people are when they're walking out the door
(companion piece to running home)
One bottle, two bottle, three bottle; six.
Jaejoong made himself a kings crown out of broken windows and nail clippings. He rolled onto his back and laughed at the bumps on the ceiling, and the spider nest he promised Changmin he'd get rid of (he covered it in duct tape and waited and waited, and left it and waited some more, till whatever was living beneath it once had turned to ash and dust.) He stood on their bed and fought the urge to break himself to pieces. (Seven bottles of soju, one of whiskey; hide himself under the floorboards and wait for rain so his roots could grow to cover the entire apartment.)
Their relationship wasn't golden - he knew that. They didn't mix well enough, they were too unstable, too raw, too brash. Or, he was all those things, and Changmin was just young and trusting (and warm and pliable.) And maybe he loved the boy too much, held him too long, until he was suffocating under that passion, and Jaejoongs kisses left violets blooming on Changmins cheeks. But to be gone, to leave, to bring nothing with him to remind himself of his years with the older man. (Another bottle of soju; cracking opened the precious hitskicksandiloveyous wine.)
Jaejoong loved all that he owned too much to simply let go.
jaesu;
recurring, romance/horror?, pg-13 (271 words.)
(companion piece to we have the trees.)
He's running, barefoot, just running and running, and around him is nothing but whiteness, and he can smell something like yeast, or freshly baked bread, but the air is cold cold cold.
Blood is pounding in his ears, light is escaping from his pores, and his very being is being absorbed by the whiteness. The light is escaping him and rushing out of his system, and with every molecule of brightness the pushes passed his fleshy boundaries, the absence of being around him expands and grows, a large demon becoming larger and larger.
And he runs, away from the light, away from the white, aiming towards the one comforting area of darkness that he can barely see anymore; he runs and runs and his body is caving in on itself like a blow up doll losing air, and then, mere feet away from the sanctuary, his ankles melt to butter and he collapses, flat and airless against the nothingness.
He floats like a feather for years, until his face his grasped in calloused fingers, and lips meet his fingers, blowing the UV back into him. The crusts over his eyes crack and fall off and he curls his arms around his warm hero - the man with crinkling eyes and soft hair.
"And then what happens?" the faceless woman asks, gleaming spectacles erasing her face. She taps her pen once on her notepad, scrutinizing him under the harsh office light. Junsu squirms, cracks his wrists. The dream whirs on, film projected on the backs of his eyelids. He can almost feel the teeth in his neck.
"And then he eats me."
jaesuchun;
intersections, romance/angst, pg-13 (133 words.)
Don't make me come after you, don't make me, I couldn't take it, I can't take anything anymore, don't make me have to come after you this time-
is a never ending tick on the office wall, on and on and on until Junsu can barely stand to hear it anymore. Jaejoong kisses his forehead and rubs his thighs and the tick burrows into the blossoming heat of his skin.
Don't make me love you like this, I really wasn't made for it, I wasn't, I wasn't and I can't - Jaejoong, what about him, what about Yoochun-
is a web-toed, croc footed, hairy legged stranger standing on the edges of their serenity. He stares, he gapes, he burns, but he doesn't say sorry.
(Junsu thinks; we don't know the meaning of sorry.)
junsu-centric;
drive, humor, pg (489 words.)
(have to drive, amanda palmer.)
"Well shit," is Yoochuns glorious contribution to the situation. Junsu pulls at his hair and almost has a panic attack - his headlights are shattered, and he's pretty sure that's blood staining his jeans. Blood or urine. He may have wet himself upon impact.
"There were deer crossing signs," Changmin says smugly. "I told you."
"Why would a deer be walking around an unlit highway in the middle of the night," Junsu rambles hysterically. "It doesn't make sense - don't they sleep?"
Jaejoong walks around the car to inspect it; one of the tires is toast, the headlights are out, and the front bumpers warped. "Yikes," is all he says.
Junsu squats on the ground and rolls on his heels as Yunho surveys the collateral damage. He mutters a number under his breath and Junsu can literally feel the debt eating away at his bank account and future paychecks.
The other four fall silent, and the quiet almost kills him. "What do we do?" he whispers, frantic, fingers grasping and pulling at his hair. He's going to get such a talking to. He's going to lose his licence. He'll never be able to deal with the guilt.
Yunho starts pulling the carcass off of the road, tugging pathetically on one of the legs, and Jaejoong quickly comes to help him. Yoochun peeks between the deers cooling toes (because someone once told him the fur between them was green, and he has to check.) "Well, whattaya know," he marvels, before helping Yunho tug the thing off of the road.
They manage to get it off of the road and into the ditch, while Changmin leans on the hood of the car and sifts through Junsu's insurance manual. Yoochun and Yunho wipe their hands on their jeans and come to peek over his shoulder as Jaejoong walks around the fallen creature curiously.
"Well, you're out of luck," Changmin says, smacking the book closed. "Insurance doesn't cover wildlife. Too bad you didn't hit a phone pole."
"Sure he did," Yoochun says. "There was a big ole phone, just chilling here in the middle of nowhere."
Yunho rubs his forehead, irritated. "There's blood on the car," he says in his big bag leader-voice. Junsu is expecting a lecture on the merits of honesty. Instead, Yunho says; "We'll have to spray it off before we take it into a shop. They aren't stupid. We have bottles of water in the trunk."
Junsu stares in disbelief as Yoochun nods and heads for the trunk. The lying guilt settles into his gut, and he starts to feel like his uncle, who, according to his father, would lie his way around and out of anything. Junsu wonders if it's hereditary.
This is when Jaejoong returns from his bonding with the animal corpse, gravity pulling on his lips. "She's a she," he says, pondering. "I wonder if she had any babies."
The guilt threatens to eat Junsu alive.
acting, angst, pg-13 (132 words.)
junsu is a tiny being of over-condensed milk powder, ready for a enduring gust to wither him to rag and bone. (ready for a silver-voiced lover to dip him into their coffee.)
and he says, "i don't want it, i don't i don't," as if it'll stop anything; stop forceful hands and hardened finger tips. (stop i love you's and i'm sorry's and i'll never again's.)
junsu is a tiny milk-soldier in a strangers clothing. clothing too big, too small, but the important thing is that no one seems to notice. so he throws his head back and laughs and sings until his voice comes out red and warm in his palms. (and at night, it's a hush and a stroke and a no one notices, oh my god no one cares.)
yunho-centric;
monday, angst, pg (222 words.)
(companion piece to acting)
Leader-ssi might as well translate to Watcher-ssi. He's the man that stands along the sidelines of the band and witnesses the wearying tilt to their heads. He's the man that holds back just enough of himself to have room for everyone else. He's the man that wears the fakest face to legality, and warmest to people. He's the man that pulls Jaejoong back when he's running too far, and pulls Yoochun up when he's running too far down - the one that pulls Changmin back from all of the things he'd love to say but never should. Even at seventeen on a show bank stage at the beginning of his legacy, he was the man that held them up and together.
Junsu has never been a problem. Junsu never smokes like a dying flame; never falls flat on his face when his feet give out under him; is never overcome by teal-cynicism and malice. Yunho doesn't know how to handle a grieving Junsu. And when the younger boy gradually pales and slims and hides in the apartment bathroom with a stuttering cry, Yunho sits outside the door and listens, and wishes he had a wick to burn his skin.
(That's the thing about flames, Jaejoong mumbled once, drunk off his ass. No one wonders where they go. When they're gone, they're gone.)
changmin-centric;
quiet world, general/angst, g (131 words.)
( the quiet world, jeffrey mcdaniel)
Changmin spends his days in silence. While some chat and banter until their reserve runs dry, he instead chooses to live in quietude. The chatter in his work place and the cafes he eats in keep him aglow with life and sociability. He points at menus and communicates with as much movement as possible, when he has to.
Changmin doesn't have friends, or family, or anyone worth talking to, really. He gets up in the morning alone, and falls to his stiff mattress at night with no one by his side. He has no one to talk to.
But the words don't accumulate; you have an allotted amount each day, everyday, and words unsaid don't carry over. Not one to be wasteful, Changmin develops the habit of talking in his sleep.
madness, horror, pg-13 (233 words.)
Changmin wakes up without the slightest inclination where he is. In his car, somewhere, just off a dirt path - decrepit trees out the window plane, held up against a canvas of expired colours. He sits straight and groans at the tensing in his back and neck; rolls his spiritless muscles back to life. His clothes smell smokey and stiff.
He isn't sure why he grabs his camera phone, recording his shaking fingers opening the car door. It feels right, feels safe. He stumbles out, filming his surroundings. The frigid air inhales his entire being, smoking ashen footprints onto his skin. The branches sway in the no-wind and Changmin catches the barest glimmer of a pallid figure in the shrouded distance, naked and thin. He focuses his camera as the man moves, comes closer, barest anatomy grey-washed in the fog.
Moving towards him.
An unbearable panic settles along his stomach lining. Changmin doesn't need to understand the unsettling burn as he slams the door behind him and revs the engine, backing out of the obscured shoulder onto the paved highway. The shadow looms at his window just as he shifts into drive.
A mile off, Changmin is a shifting figure of paranoid eyes, switching between the rear-views. Yellow lines disappear under the fog in the distance - he presses his palms flat against the wheel, mind left entirely empty under the morning haze.