looking for a place to happen
looking for a place to happen
yunho/jaejoong
g; 607w.
for honesthours
"Let's get out of here," Yunho suggests one day. He has always been the responsible and practical one; the least prone to wanderlust and spontaneity that Jaejoong can't deny him (and even if he could, he wouldn't).
"Okay," Jaejoong says. "Okay."
Yunho fills the gas tank and buys a map from the bookstore. Jaejoong packs food, basic necessities and all their belongings, marvelling at the fact that he can fit their entire lives into cardboard boxes. They sell their apartment and drain their bank accounts, uprooting their complacency and throwing all caution into the wind.
They drive across the country, going back and forth between urban and rural landscapes. They're like gypsies travelling in a caravan: journeying through cities, towns and villages, but never stopping long enough for habits and routines to develop. Both of them take turns at the wheel and are horrible at reading maps so after getting lost one too many times, they decide to give up on directions and instructions, and allow feelings and gut instincts to dictate their movements instead.
They get the odd part-time jobs wherever they stop at for the day or week or month (it varies) to make ends meet, and spend their paychecks on food, alcohol, cigarettes and petrol. They can rarely afford accommodation so the backseat becomes their makeshift bed. On their off-days, they wander around taking in the sights and conversing with the locals, soaking everyday culture into their skin. It's hard living out of a suitcase and in a limited amount of space, but they manage to make do with what little that they have. They get by.
Maybe they're being young and foolish, consumed by delusions of grandeur and freedom. Maybe it's an unrealistic and idealistic way to live but for now, it's the only semblance of home that they can come up with. (Jaejoong realises later that home is the press of Yunho's hand on the small of his back, warm and comforting; Yunho's soft smiles being the first thing he sees when he wakes up and the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep; their lives, like their belongings stuffed into cardboard boxes, jumbled up and intertwined beyond recognition.)
"Jaejoong?"
"Hm?"
"We've been running in circles for so long and I keep dragging you along on this ride to nowhere and you're probably sick of all this. What's wrong with me? I just don't know anymore," Yunho rambles while wringing his hands, disquietude eating away at his insides like a gaping wound that refuses to heal.
Jaejoong takes Yunho's shaking hands in his, stills them, and says, "You worry too much. We're going to be fine."
And they will be.
Yunho doesn't know where his sudden bout of wanderlust came from nor how it occurred and wonders when, after two years, will the restlessness that settled deep in his bones disappear. The same ache that made him drop everything and leave. He's not looking for permanency so much as familiarity, and it's hard to find it amongst all this uncertainty.
It hits him one day, though; with so much clarity and simplicity that he almost forgets to breathe. That the familiarity he craves for, he can find it in Jaejoong: the way their bodies naturally gravitate toward each other at the equilibrium; Jaejoong's laugh, loud and carefree and unapologetic, mingled with the sounds of wind and rain; lazy Sunday mornings spent in their cramped makeshift bed of a car backseat, pilfering kisses and warmth from one another.
"Tell me you're happy," Yunho says. ("Tell me this is enough. Tell me I'm enough.")
Jaejoong smiles, "I'm happy." ("It is. You are.")
yunho/jaejoong
g; 607w.
for honesthours
"Let's get out of here," Yunho suggests one day. He has always been the responsible and practical one; the least prone to wanderlust and spontaneity that Jaejoong can't deny him (and even if he could, he wouldn't).
"Okay," Jaejoong says. "Okay."
Yunho fills the gas tank and buys a map from the bookstore. Jaejoong packs food, basic necessities and all their belongings, marvelling at the fact that he can fit their entire lives into cardboard boxes. They sell their apartment and drain their bank accounts, uprooting their complacency and throwing all caution into the wind.
They drive across the country, going back and forth between urban and rural landscapes. They're like gypsies travelling in a caravan: journeying through cities, towns and villages, but never stopping long enough for habits and routines to develop. Both of them take turns at the wheel and are horrible at reading maps so after getting lost one too many times, they decide to give up on directions and instructions, and allow feelings and gut instincts to dictate their movements instead.
They get the odd part-time jobs wherever they stop at for the day or week or month (it varies) to make ends meet, and spend their paychecks on food, alcohol, cigarettes and petrol. They can rarely afford accommodation so the backseat becomes their makeshift bed. On their off-days, they wander around taking in the sights and conversing with the locals, soaking everyday culture into their skin. It's hard living out of a suitcase and in a limited amount of space, but they manage to make do with what little that they have. They get by.
Maybe they're being young and foolish, consumed by delusions of grandeur and freedom. Maybe it's an unrealistic and idealistic way to live but for now, it's the only semblance of home that they can come up with. (Jaejoong realises later that home is the press of Yunho's hand on the small of his back, warm and comforting; Yunho's soft smiles being the first thing he sees when he wakes up and the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep; their lives, like their belongings stuffed into cardboard boxes, jumbled up and intertwined beyond recognition.)
"Jaejoong?"
"Hm?"
"We've been running in circles for so long and I keep dragging you along on this ride to nowhere and you're probably sick of all this. What's wrong with me? I just don't know anymore," Yunho rambles while wringing his hands, disquietude eating away at his insides like a gaping wound that refuses to heal.
Jaejoong takes Yunho's shaking hands in his, stills them, and says, "You worry too much. We're going to be fine."
And they will be.
Yunho doesn't know where his sudden bout of wanderlust came from nor how it occurred and wonders when, after two years, will the restlessness that settled deep in his bones disappear. The same ache that made him drop everything and leave. He's not looking for permanency so much as familiarity, and it's hard to find it amongst all this uncertainty.
It hits him one day, though; with so much clarity and simplicity that he almost forgets to breathe. That the familiarity he craves for, he can find it in Jaejoong: the way their bodies naturally gravitate toward each other at the equilibrium; Jaejoong's laugh, loud and carefree and unapologetic, mingled with the sounds of wind and rain; lazy Sunday mornings spent in their cramped makeshift bed of a car backseat, pilfering kisses and warmth from one another.
"Tell me you're happy," Yunho says. ("Tell me this is enough. Tell me I'm enough.")
Jaejoong smiles, "I'm happy." ("It is. You are.")