fic; yoosu
title untitled
rating pg-13
pairing yoosu; small jaemin
summary what is it like, you ask me one day, when you die?
untitled
What is it like, you ask me one day, when you die? I'm sorry that I can't answer.
How should I know?
You're older, you say, as though older is better, older is wiser. You might die earlier than I do, anyway.
If that should happen, I'll make sure to tell you what death is like, then. You look up--I was taller, then--as you pass me the test results. We hold our breaths while tearing the top of the envelope.
Negative.
Our slow smiles turn into laughter, and we cling to each other. I am so happy that I don't even notice your envelope, still sealed shut, white and sterile like the hospital itself. You knew, then, didn't you?
We don't check your results because we forget to, or maybe we assume that the results are the same for us both.
Or, at least, I assumed.
But, you knew, Junsu, didn't you?
x
You've been coughing now for five days, but I try not to dwell on it. It's winter, after all; the air is dry, and you're taking medicine.
Then I catch you leaning over the sink in the bathroom--you think I've gone out, all ready--and when you cough, it seems as though your throat is being ripped out, and you spit blood onto the white porcelain.
You look up into your reflection in the mirror, catch my eyes, and freeze.
Yoochun. Your voice is softer than before, a shadow of its former self.
I flinch. What's going on?
Your shoulders slump a little, and you whisper, I'm sick, before you start to cough again.
Embracing you seems dangerous; the most that I can do is rub your back slowly, my hand making you shiver, or maybe you are just cold. You'll get better, I say.
No, Yoochun. I'm sick.
I know.
You say, Aren't you angry? looking behind your shoulders at me, our faces close.
I pause. How could I be angry? But then I think about what you must have done, how careless you must have been, so I answer, Maybe a little, and I think those words hurt you more than the virus ever did.
x
The first time you have to go to the hospital is because of a stomach flu that doesn't go away. I can't help but marvel at how thin you become--the disease has eaten away at your insides, and all the while, I can nothing but watch and hold your hands when the doctors have left.
It's the first time that I think that I want to kill somebody; the man that gave you his sickness--I want him to die. You tell me his name after I ask one too many times, and I ask the hospital about him.
Oh, I'm so sorry, is the reply. He passed away just last week.
He is all ready dead.
It makes me breath catch in my throat. He was our age, Junsu, twenty-four.
x
I think about how many times you've been to the hospital, how many times you've left, how many times before your last visit, how many times before you can't leave, at all.
x
I meet Jaejoong one day in the visitor's waiting area of the hospital. He's pale and thin, and he reminds me of you, a little.
He asks me, Do you read Harry Potter?
I say, Yes, I guess so.
I'm trying to figure out whether Draco is a tortured soul or just a bastard.
I think, giving his words consideration.
Why?
He shrugs. My boyfriend--at this, he glances over at me quickly, as though worried, but seems to relax when I don't respond--really loves Harry Potter and he's convinced that Draco is just a whiny kid who has no heart. I think he's got one, though.
You have too much faith in people.
I like to have faith in people. It's much easier, you know; I trust everyone until you do something unforgiveable.
What about your boyfriend?
He sighs, thin shoulders working.
I forgave him a long time ago.
x
The first thing that you do when we arrive back home from the hospital is collapse onto the bed and exclaim, I am never going back there again.
What if you get sick again?
I don't care.
We leave it at that. I make us noodles for dinner, and you couldn't have been happier, taking heaping mouthfuls as if to rid yourself of the stale taste of the hospital.
The clothes you brought to the hospital stay in the tiny suitcase; you don't ever unpack them--I don't think you would have, either, even if you had the time.
Even now I don't have the heart to take the black suitcase out from its spot in the corner of the closet. The smell of disinfectant and latex gloves still lingers.
x
Jaejoong visits with his boyfriend, Changmin, when he gets out of the hospital, and he nags and nags until we cave in to his desire to do some grocery shopping. You're low on salt! he says. How can you cook anything when you're low on salt?
On the way to the market, there is a field, and the thing is, there are a few guys there, playing soccer. You hesitate for just a second (maybe you are wondering if you can still run with the best of them) before you turn to me and say, I want to play.
You tell us to go ahead, go on, because you'll still be here when we've finished buying groceries.
So we leave you.
And when we come back, you aren't there.
One of the guys knocked into him, a player who remembers you says. He started to have trouble breathing, though. And then...he fainted. So we called in an ambulance. One of the players went with him. Your friend--Junsu?--he plays a good game.
x
Once in the hospital, it seems as though your condition only gets worse.
He'll be out in a few days, the doctors say, at first; then, We need to run more tests; then, Give it a few weeks.
One day you grab a hold of my wrist from the hospital bed and whisper desperately, Get me out of here.
I look at your knuckles--they're white, but your hold is weak.
You need treatment, though, Junsu. And the doctors say--
I don't want to die in a hospital!
I stumble. Your hand releases me.
Please, Yoochun, you're pleading. Let's leave. Let's just leave.
x
You never quite regain your strength after that. Jaejoong takes to you in particular when he know that you're staying in bed, and he brings over homemade congee and his boyfriend.
You'll feel better after a bite of this, he says, and Changmin tries to steal your spoonful as Jaejoong feeds you, mostly spilling the stew over the bed sheets and his lap, and I watch the days go by as you get thinner, paler, weaker.
Yoochun, you say one night, your arms around me and our legs pressed against each other under the bed covers. Don't let me die in a hospital.
I'm struggling to think of something clever to say--something to lighten the mood and maybe make us pretend like you're fine, everything's okay. In the end, I just respond, I won't let you die, like some hero in a movie.
You say something else. Maybe it's I love you, or maybe it's I'll miss you, or something else, but then your breathing slows, your eyes close, and your sounds of sleep gradually fall over me.
x
What's it like, Junsu, when you die?
x
end
x
[an] as usual, i'm sorry this is...slightly depressing? i'm in a dry state though. i hate everything that i'm starting.
-quix.
comments and concrit are love.
rating pg-13
pairing yoosu; small jaemin
summary what is it like, you ask me one day, when you die?
untitled
What is it like, you ask me one day, when you die? I'm sorry that I can't answer.
How should I know?
You're older, you say, as though older is better, older is wiser. You might die earlier than I do, anyway.
If that should happen, I'll make sure to tell you what death is like, then. You look up--I was taller, then--as you pass me the test results. We hold our breaths while tearing the top of the envelope.
Negative.
Our slow smiles turn into laughter, and we cling to each other. I am so happy that I don't even notice your envelope, still sealed shut, white and sterile like the hospital itself. You knew, then, didn't you?
We don't check your results because we forget to, or maybe we assume that the results are the same for us both.
Or, at least, I assumed.
But, you knew, Junsu, didn't you?
x
You've been coughing now for five days, but I try not to dwell on it. It's winter, after all; the air is dry, and you're taking medicine.
Then I catch you leaning over the sink in the bathroom--you think I've gone out, all ready--and when you cough, it seems as though your throat is being ripped out, and you spit blood onto the white porcelain.
You look up into your reflection in the mirror, catch my eyes, and freeze.
Yoochun. Your voice is softer than before, a shadow of its former self.
I flinch. What's going on?
Your shoulders slump a little, and you whisper, I'm sick, before you start to cough again.
Embracing you seems dangerous; the most that I can do is rub your back slowly, my hand making you shiver, or maybe you are just cold. You'll get better, I say.
No, Yoochun. I'm sick.
I know.
You say, Aren't you angry? looking behind your shoulders at me, our faces close.
I pause. How could I be angry? But then I think about what you must have done, how careless you must have been, so I answer, Maybe a little, and I think those words hurt you more than the virus ever did.
x
The first time you have to go to the hospital is because of a stomach flu that doesn't go away. I can't help but marvel at how thin you become--the disease has eaten away at your insides, and all the while, I can nothing but watch and hold your hands when the doctors have left.
It's the first time that I think that I want to kill somebody; the man that gave you his sickness--I want him to die. You tell me his name after I ask one too many times, and I ask the hospital about him.
Oh, I'm so sorry, is the reply. He passed away just last week.
He is all ready dead.
It makes me breath catch in my throat. He was our age, Junsu, twenty-four.
x
I think about how many times you've been to the hospital, how many times you've left, how many times before your last visit, how many times before you can't leave, at all.
x
I meet Jaejoong one day in the visitor's waiting area of the hospital. He's pale and thin, and he reminds me of you, a little.
He asks me, Do you read Harry Potter?
I say, Yes, I guess so.
I'm trying to figure out whether Draco is a tortured soul or just a bastard.
I think, giving his words consideration.
Why?
He shrugs. My boyfriend--at this, he glances over at me quickly, as though worried, but seems to relax when I don't respond--really loves Harry Potter and he's convinced that Draco is just a whiny kid who has no heart. I think he's got one, though.
You have too much faith in people.
I like to have faith in people. It's much easier, you know; I trust everyone until you do something unforgiveable.
What about your boyfriend?
He sighs, thin shoulders working.
I forgave him a long time ago.
x
The first thing that you do when we arrive back home from the hospital is collapse onto the bed and exclaim, I am never going back there again.
What if you get sick again?
I don't care.
We leave it at that. I make us noodles for dinner, and you couldn't have been happier, taking heaping mouthfuls as if to rid yourself of the stale taste of the hospital.
The clothes you brought to the hospital stay in the tiny suitcase; you don't ever unpack them--I don't think you would have, either, even if you had the time.
Even now I don't have the heart to take the black suitcase out from its spot in the corner of the closet. The smell of disinfectant and latex gloves still lingers.
x
Jaejoong visits with his boyfriend, Changmin, when he gets out of the hospital, and he nags and nags until we cave in to his desire to do some grocery shopping. You're low on salt! he says. How can you cook anything when you're low on salt?
On the way to the market, there is a field, and the thing is, there are a few guys there, playing soccer. You hesitate for just a second (maybe you are wondering if you can still run with the best of them) before you turn to me and say, I want to play.
You tell us to go ahead, go on, because you'll still be here when we've finished buying groceries.
So we leave you.
And when we come back, you aren't there.
One of the guys knocked into him, a player who remembers you says. He started to have trouble breathing, though. And then...he fainted. So we called in an ambulance. One of the players went with him. Your friend--Junsu?--he plays a good game.
x
Once in the hospital, it seems as though your condition only gets worse.
He'll be out in a few days, the doctors say, at first; then, We need to run more tests; then, Give it a few weeks.
One day you grab a hold of my wrist from the hospital bed and whisper desperately, Get me out of here.
I look at your knuckles--they're white, but your hold is weak.
You need treatment, though, Junsu. And the doctors say--
I don't want to die in a hospital!
I stumble. Your hand releases me.
Please, Yoochun, you're pleading. Let's leave. Let's just leave.
x
You never quite regain your strength after that. Jaejoong takes to you in particular when he know that you're staying in bed, and he brings over homemade congee and his boyfriend.
You'll feel better after a bite of this, he says, and Changmin tries to steal your spoonful as Jaejoong feeds you, mostly spilling the stew over the bed sheets and his lap, and I watch the days go by as you get thinner, paler, weaker.
Yoochun, you say one night, your arms around me and our legs pressed against each other under the bed covers. Don't let me die in a hospital.
I'm struggling to think of something clever to say--something to lighten the mood and maybe make us pretend like you're fine, everything's okay. In the end, I just respond, I won't let you die, like some hero in a movie.
You say something else. Maybe it's I love you, or maybe it's I'll miss you, or something else, but then your breathing slows, your eyes close, and your sounds of sleep gradually fall over me.
x
What's it like, Junsu, when you die?
x
end
x
[an] as usual, i'm sorry this is...slightly depressing? i'm in a dry state though. i hate everything that i'm starting.
-quix.
comments and concrit are love.