Fic: all that glitters
Title: all that glitters
Pairing: Changmin/Jaejoong
Rating: PG-13
Written for my DBSK pairings challenge here. There are quite a few pairings still left unclaimed, so any prompts at all would be much appreciated <3 This is for kurogama who wanted Jaemin with the prompt at least I remember I love you, which is a terrific prompt, really. Also partly inspired by, and lyrics shamelessly filched from, Michael Buble's Home. The whole story sounded really good in my head, which was why I took my time writing this one, because I really didn't want to not do it any justice, but...idek, rly, idek. That said, I hope you like this one, kurogama <3
They shrug it off, the first time Jaejoong misses a turn in practice and stops dead in his tracks, even when Yunho makes them go over the routine again another ten times. Junsu covers for him, the day Jaejoong misses his cue while on tour, voice filling up the empty spaces of the verse while Jaejoong stands and stares, hand over mouth, eyes wide and unblinking. Soon after that they catch him staring: out the window, at a spot on the wall, over Yoochun’s shoulder, gaze unfocused and still, so still he could be a carving (pale, silent, exquisite. dead).
“Hyung”, Changmin says, mouth drawn down. Jaejoong blinks up at him, and they all start breathing again.
They laugh it off, the lapses in Jaejoong’s memory, the puzzled smiles he directs sometimes at items about the apartment, old photographs and figurines that they’ve carried with them faithfully from place to place. “You’ll remember this”, they say, “our first award”, and Jaejoong runs his fingers over the trophy, lips twisting oddly, pulls his hand away.
---
One day Jaejoong wakes up and remembers nothing at all.
---
“Youngwoong”, one of the boys calls him, desperate, urgent, like it should mean something, “hyung”, and Jaejoong shakes his head mutely.
“Stress”, a much older man is saying, “it must be-”
They send him to the doctor’s, the walls white and cold, sterile. The tall one holds his hand through the scans, and Jaejoong lets him, because he has a nice smile, if a little tremulous. “It’ll be okay”, Jaejoong says kindly, even though he isn’t quite sure what the problem is. The boy smiles down at him again, thin-lipped, strained, holds on tighter.
“We can’t be sure of anything at this point”, the doctor is saying, and Jaejoong decides to stop listening. “Jaejoong”, one of them says, his grip on Jaejoong’s shoulders firm, unyielding. “Jaejoong, I-” He falters, and Jaejoong waits. “It’s Yunho, Jaejoong.”
“Yunho.” Jaejoong is surprised at how easily the name rolls off his tongue. “Hello, Yunho.”
He doesn’t miss Yunho’s stricken glance, or the look he shares with the other three, and wonders why it should make him feel this guilty.
---
(my words were cold and flat)
Jaejoong spends the rest of the week learning names and watching videos of performances, of him, of them, of us. Please, they say, please. I’m sorry, Jaejoong replies, eyes on the floor, and sings when they ask him to.
“I want to go home”, he says on the seventh day, and there is silence around the dinner table, a stilling of movement, of conversation, of breath. Jaejoong waits, and Yunho moves, at last, sets down his chopsticks and exhales loudly. “Okay”, his face set, inscrutable, “okay”, and Jaejoong remembers to thank him.
Jaejoong takes little, nothing he can’t fit into a small duffel bag: his toothbrush, a comb, a quarter of his wardrobe. “Take this”, Junsu insists, CDs, earrings and photographs pressed into his hands, and Jaejoong doesn’t have the heart to refuse. Yunho fusses over his packing, unfolding and refolding shirts almost compulsively. “Don’t”, Jaejoong tries, almost helplessly, when it comes time for him to go, but Yoochun only shakes his head; leaves the sleeve of his shirt damp.
“Stay safe”, Changmin whispers fiercely at the door, arms tight, tight, tight about Jaejoong’s shoulders. “Come back soon”, voice hoarse on the last word, and Jaejoong lets the younger boy kiss him goodbye.
---
“Jaejoong”, his mother says when the door opens, eyes wide, visibly startled, and Jaejoong doesn’t know why he should be crying like this, doesn’t know why it should feel like it’s been months and months and months-
“Hi”, he manages, and his mother smiles; leads him back into the house by the hand.
It’s days later before he comes across the article, picture and headline splashed across the page.
TOP IDOL GROUP DONG BANG SHIN KI DISBANDS
Following the phenomenal success of a nationwide tour, SM Entertainment’s abrupt announcement early last evening-
“That’s you, son”, his mother says quietly. Jaejoong doesn’t recognize him, this Youngwoong, doesn’t know Xiah or Micky or U-know or Choikang-
“No”, he replies, just as quietly; averts his eyes.
He has money now, he’s told, and two weeks later his bags are packed and ready and waiting for him. “Take care of yourself”, his mother admonishes, hands busy on his jacket. “Remember to eat, and sleep, and watch out for pickpockets-”
“Umma”, he laughs, half annoyed, exasperated, “I know-”
“Flight HQ-541 now boarding-”
(hyung stop spacing out we’re going to miss the plane)
“Jaejoong”, and Jaejoong jerks. His mother is frowning, lips thin. “Were you listening?”
“Yes”, Jaejoong replies dutifully, breathes in the familiar scent of her powder; thinks of clouds and sky and long, winding, endless roads.
---
Jaejoong really likes this, he thinks, the salt in the air, the sand warm between his toes, the sea calm, clear, still, the sunset itself nothing short of spectacular. There’s a couple fifty meters down the beach, fingers laced, heads together, shadows long at their feet, and Jaejoong wishes he had a camera, wishes he could immortalize the swirl of the hem of her sundress in the breeze, the clean lines of his shoulders. He finds a small piece of driftwood, further on; bends down idly to retrieve it.
Kim Jaejoong, he writes in the wet sand, strokes careful, precise; starts again. Kim Jaejoo-
(TVXQ!, in blocky alphabet, and Jaejoong laughs at him for being predictable. The boy frowns, smacks him lightly on one slightly sunburned arm, ignoring Jaejoong’s squawk of protest. "Be quiet, hyung", he says calmly; allows Jaejoong to trace a heart with his finger next to his masterpiece.
"maybe", Jaejoong says, grin wide, wide, wide, fingers hooking in Changmin’s crocheted white top, "maybe I’ll make you my canvas-" )
The waves are now close enough to lap at his toes, and Jaejoong blinks slowly, stands. There’s a ruined sandcastle, on his way up the dunes. Jaejoong pauses long enough to lay a shell (white, smooth, weathered) on the mound, and wonders why it feels so much like marking a grave.
---
(and I’ve been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you)
Hyung
You won’t believe what Junsu hyung did the other day
Today Yunho hyung and I
Yoochun hyung wants to know if you’re having fun
I miss you.
Love,
Changmin
---
(at least I)
The city of light, and Jaejoong drinks in the sweeping arches, the spiraling towers, the broad, open squares. He spends hours just sitting, and watching, coffee cup held close, eyes fixed on the streets, on the people. He finds himself in an old bookstore tucked in a discreet corner one mild afternoon, the bell over the shop entrance chiming softly as he lets himself in. The proprietor (graying, glasses low on his nose) nods in welcome, and Jaejoong ends up wandering the stacks for the better part of an hour, fingers trailing almost reverently along the spines. He mouths the titles to himself, those that he can read, in English, in French, in languages he barely recognizes.
There’s a nook, by the shop front, the sun streaming in through the clear glass, and it’s there that Jaejoong stops to watch the slow, lazy eddy of dust motes in the still air, around and around and around-
(he’s staring, he knows, staring staring staring, learning it all by heart, the curl of hair by one cheek; the turn of a wrist, smooth, almost delicate; the face, still, open, focused-
"hyung", and Jaejoong’s caught, caught, caught. Changmin waits, book still open on his lap, eyebrow raised in enquiry.
"wanted", Jaejoong manages, "wanted to see if you were hungry-" )
“This, please”, Jaejoong says awkwardly, and the man slips his purchase into a small paper bag.
“You’re a far way from home”, the old man says slowly, enunciating each syllable clearly, and Jaejoong catches the gist of it, the second time round; smiles to show he agrees.
---
(each one a line or two)
Hyung
Maybe you’ll see this, and maybe you won’t
Junsu hyung keeps whining about souvenirs
I hope this reaches you in time. Happy Birthday.
Come home soon.
Love,
Changmin
---
(at least I)
(at least I remember)
Tokyo reminds Jaejoong of Seoul, in some ways, bright and bustling and alive, even this late at night. He’s pleasantly surprised to find he knows the language (he doesn’t remember learning). He’s getting closer, he knows. To what is still unclear, yet it’s been sitting with him the past few days or so, settling on him like a second skin, like the ghost of laughter in his ear in the mornings while still half asleep, like the warmth of stage lights on shoulders. Imagined warmth, he tells himself, because he hasn’t been on stage, hasn’t hasn’t hasn’t. He’s sure he would remember something like that, except, except-
("you eat too much", Jaejoong accuses, but affectionately, because he hates that they’re all getting thinner, hates that they never have the time for proper meals any longer.
"you eat too little", Changmin counters, and calls for another bowl despite Jaejoong’s protests.
"you’ll explode-"
"we’ll share", Changmin says, firm; pushes the bowl of ramen in front of Jaejoong. "eat", and Jaejoong does.
they hold hands all the way back to the hotel, two streets away, and Changmin kisses him before they get there, Jaejoong’s back pressed to a streetlamp.
"thank you", Changmin says, "for taking me out-"
"stupid", Jaejoong laughs. "did you think I’d leave my dongsaeng to starve?"
"well", Changmin’s grin bright in the dimness, "I wouldn’t put it past you."
"you take that back, Shim Changmin-")
Tokyo might remind Jaejoong of Seoul, but it isn’t, not really, and he isn’t too surprised to find he doesn’t have to wait for his mind to catch up with his ears and translate the conversation around him to know the distinction.
---
(at least I remember)
(at least I remember I)
“Hello”, Jaejoong says, when the door opens, when Changmin just stands, and looks, and-
“You remember”, he says, and Jaejoong shakes his head.
“No. A little. At least, I remember I-”
(really, hyung, not now)
(i’m telling the world you spend your time abusing the magnae)
(i wish you’d just let me)
(love you love you love you)
“I know”, Changmin says against his mouth. “Knew you’d come back-” and this is right, Jaejoong thinks, the way they fit, you and me and coming full circle, round and round and round and back again, always back again-
They’re all there now, Yunho taking his bag, Yoochun by his side, Junsu bright eyed in his excitement. “Welcome home”, Changmin says by his ear.
“Your gift”, Jaejoong replies, smiles with his teeth; tangles his fingers in Changmin’s hair.
Pairing: Changmin/Jaejoong
Rating: PG-13
Written for my DBSK pairings challenge here. There are quite a few pairings still left unclaimed, so any prompts at all would be much appreciated <3 This is for kurogama who wanted Jaemin with the prompt at least I remember I love you, which is a terrific prompt, really. Also partly inspired by, and lyrics shamelessly filched from, Michael Buble's Home. The whole story sounded really good in my head, which was why I took my time writing this one, because I really didn't want to not do it any justice, but...idek, rly, idek. That said, I hope you like this one, kurogama <3
They shrug it off, the first time Jaejoong misses a turn in practice and stops dead in his tracks, even when Yunho makes them go over the routine again another ten times. Junsu covers for him, the day Jaejoong misses his cue while on tour, voice filling up the empty spaces of the verse while Jaejoong stands and stares, hand over mouth, eyes wide and unblinking. Soon after that they catch him staring: out the window, at a spot on the wall, over Yoochun’s shoulder, gaze unfocused and still, so still he could be a carving (pale, silent, exquisite. dead).
“Hyung”, Changmin says, mouth drawn down. Jaejoong blinks up at him, and they all start breathing again.
They laugh it off, the lapses in Jaejoong’s memory, the puzzled smiles he directs sometimes at items about the apartment, old photographs and figurines that they’ve carried with them faithfully from place to place. “You’ll remember this”, they say, “our first award”, and Jaejoong runs his fingers over the trophy, lips twisting oddly, pulls his hand away.
---
One day Jaejoong wakes up and remembers nothing at all.
---
“Youngwoong”, one of the boys calls him, desperate, urgent, like it should mean something, “hyung”, and Jaejoong shakes his head mutely.
“Stress”, a much older man is saying, “it must be-”
They send him to the doctor’s, the walls white and cold, sterile. The tall one holds his hand through the scans, and Jaejoong lets him, because he has a nice smile, if a little tremulous. “It’ll be okay”, Jaejoong says kindly, even though he isn’t quite sure what the problem is. The boy smiles down at him again, thin-lipped, strained, holds on tighter.
“We can’t be sure of anything at this point”, the doctor is saying, and Jaejoong decides to stop listening. “Jaejoong”, one of them says, his grip on Jaejoong’s shoulders firm, unyielding. “Jaejoong, I-” He falters, and Jaejoong waits. “It’s Yunho, Jaejoong.”
“Yunho.” Jaejoong is surprised at how easily the name rolls off his tongue. “Hello, Yunho.”
He doesn’t miss Yunho’s stricken glance, or the look he shares with the other three, and wonders why it should make him feel this guilty.
---
(my words were cold and flat)
Jaejoong spends the rest of the week learning names and watching videos of performances, of him, of them, of us. Please, they say, please. I’m sorry, Jaejoong replies, eyes on the floor, and sings when they ask him to.
“I want to go home”, he says on the seventh day, and there is silence around the dinner table, a stilling of movement, of conversation, of breath. Jaejoong waits, and Yunho moves, at last, sets down his chopsticks and exhales loudly. “Okay”, his face set, inscrutable, “okay”, and Jaejoong remembers to thank him.
Jaejoong takes little, nothing he can’t fit into a small duffel bag: his toothbrush, a comb, a quarter of his wardrobe. “Take this”, Junsu insists, CDs, earrings and photographs pressed into his hands, and Jaejoong doesn’t have the heart to refuse. Yunho fusses over his packing, unfolding and refolding shirts almost compulsively. “Don’t”, Jaejoong tries, almost helplessly, when it comes time for him to go, but Yoochun only shakes his head; leaves the sleeve of his shirt damp.
“Stay safe”, Changmin whispers fiercely at the door, arms tight, tight, tight about Jaejoong’s shoulders. “Come back soon”, voice hoarse on the last word, and Jaejoong lets the younger boy kiss him goodbye.
---
“Jaejoong”, his mother says when the door opens, eyes wide, visibly startled, and Jaejoong doesn’t know why he should be crying like this, doesn’t know why it should feel like it’s been months and months and months-
“Hi”, he manages, and his mother smiles; leads him back into the house by the hand.
It’s days later before he comes across the article, picture and headline splashed across the page.
TOP IDOL GROUP DONG BANG SHIN KI DISBANDS
Following the phenomenal success of a nationwide tour, SM Entertainment’s abrupt announcement early last evening-
“That’s you, son”, his mother says quietly. Jaejoong doesn’t recognize him, this Youngwoong, doesn’t know Xiah or Micky or U-know or Choikang-
“No”, he replies, just as quietly; averts his eyes.
He has money now, he’s told, and two weeks later his bags are packed and ready and waiting for him. “Take care of yourself”, his mother admonishes, hands busy on his jacket. “Remember to eat, and sleep, and watch out for pickpockets-”
“Umma”, he laughs, half annoyed, exasperated, “I know-”
“Flight HQ-541 now boarding-”
(hyung stop spacing out we’re going to miss the plane)
“Jaejoong”, and Jaejoong jerks. His mother is frowning, lips thin. “Were you listening?”
“Yes”, Jaejoong replies dutifully, breathes in the familiar scent of her powder; thinks of clouds and sky and long, winding, endless roads.
---
Jaejoong really likes this, he thinks, the salt in the air, the sand warm between his toes, the sea calm, clear, still, the sunset itself nothing short of spectacular. There’s a couple fifty meters down the beach, fingers laced, heads together, shadows long at their feet, and Jaejoong wishes he had a camera, wishes he could immortalize the swirl of the hem of her sundress in the breeze, the clean lines of his shoulders. He finds a small piece of driftwood, further on; bends down idly to retrieve it.
Kim Jaejoong, he writes in the wet sand, strokes careful, precise; starts again. Kim Jaejoo-
(TVXQ!, in blocky alphabet, and Jaejoong laughs at him for being predictable. The boy frowns, smacks him lightly on one slightly sunburned arm, ignoring Jaejoong’s squawk of protest. "Be quiet, hyung", he says calmly; allows Jaejoong to trace a heart with his finger next to his masterpiece.
"maybe", Jaejoong says, grin wide, wide, wide, fingers hooking in Changmin’s crocheted white top, "maybe I’ll make you my canvas-" )
The waves are now close enough to lap at his toes, and Jaejoong blinks slowly, stands. There’s a ruined sandcastle, on his way up the dunes. Jaejoong pauses long enough to lay a shell (white, smooth, weathered) on the mound, and wonders why it feels so much like marking a grave.
---
(and I’ve been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you)
Hyung
You won’t believe what Junsu hyung did the other day
Today Yunho hyung and I
Yoochun hyung wants to know if you’re having fun
I miss you.
Love,
Changmin
---
(at least I)
The city of light, and Jaejoong drinks in the sweeping arches, the spiraling towers, the broad, open squares. He spends hours just sitting, and watching, coffee cup held close, eyes fixed on the streets, on the people. He finds himself in an old bookstore tucked in a discreet corner one mild afternoon, the bell over the shop entrance chiming softly as he lets himself in. The proprietor (graying, glasses low on his nose) nods in welcome, and Jaejoong ends up wandering the stacks for the better part of an hour, fingers trailing almost reverently along the spines. He mouths the titles to himself, those that he can read, in English, in French, in languages he barely recognizes.
There’s a nook, by the shop front, the sun streaming in through the clear glass, and it’s there that Jaejoong stops to watch the slow, lazy eddy of dust motes in the still air, around and around and around-
(he’s staring, he knows, staring staring staring, learning it all by heart, the curl of hair by one cheek; the turn of a wrist, smooth, almost delicate; the face, still, open, focused-
"hyung", and Jaejoong’s caught, caught, caught. Changmin waits, book still open on his lap, eyebrow raised in enquiry.
"wanted", Jaejoong manages, "wanted to see if you were hungry-" )
“This, please”, Jaejoong says awkwardly, and the man slips his purchase into a small paper bag.
“You’re a far way from home”, the old man says slowly, enunciating each syllable clearly, and Jaejoong catches the gist of it, the second time round; smiles to show he agrees.
---
(each one a line or two)
Hyung
Maybe you’ll see this, and maybe you won’t
Junsu hyung keeps whining about souvenirs
I hope this reaches you in time. Happy Birthday.
Come home soon.
Love,
Changmin
---
(at least I)
(at least I remember)
Tokyo reminds Jaejoong of Seoul, in some ways, bright and bustling and alive, even this late at night. He’s pleasantly surprised to find he knows the language (he doesn’t remember learning). He’s getting closer, he knows. To what is still unclear, yet it’s been sitting with him the past few days or so, settling on him like a second skin, like the ghost of laughter in his ear in the mornings while still half asleep, like the warmth of stage lights on shoulders. Imagined warmth, he tells himself, because he hasn’t been on stage, hasn’t hasn’t hasn’t. He’s sure he would remember something like that, except, except-
("you eat too much", Jaejoong accuses, but affectionately, because he hates that they’re all getting thinner, hates that they never have the time for proper meals any longer.
"you eat too little", Changmin counters, and calls for another bowl despite Jaejoong’s protests.
"you’ll explode-"
"we’ll share", Changmin says, firm; pushes the bowl of ramen in front of Jaejoong. "eat", and Jaejoong does.
they hold hands all the way back to the hotel, two streets away, and Changmin kisses him before they get there, Jaejoong’s back pressed to a streetlamp.
"thank you", Changmin says, "for taking me out-"
"stupid", Jaejoong laughs. "did you think I’d leave my dongsaeng to starve?"
"well", Changmin’s grin bright in the dimness, "I wouldn’t put it past you."
"you take that back, Shim Changmin-")
Tokyo might remind Jaejoong of Seoul, but it isn’t, not really, and he isn’t too surprised to find he doesn’t have to wait for his mind to catch up with his ears and translate the conversation around him to know the distinction.
---
(at least I remember)
(at least I remember I)
“Hello”, Jaejoong says, when the door opens, when Changmin just stands, and looks, and-
“You remember”, he says, and Jaejoong shakes his head.
“No. A little. At least, I remember I-”
(really, hyung, not now)
(i’m telling the world you spend your time abusing the magnae)
(i wish you’d just let me)
(love you love you love you)
“I know”, Changmin says against his mouth. “Knew you’d come back-” and this is right, Jaejoong thinks, the way they fit, you and me and coming full circle, round and round and round and back again, always back again-
They’re all there now, Yunho taking his bag, Yoochun by his side, Junsu bright eyed in his excitement. “Welcome home”, Changmin says by his ear.
“Your gift”, Jaejoong replies, smiles with his teeth; tangles his fingers in Changmin’s hair.