Send Away Time - じかんを 派遣された
Warnings: Weirdness, bromancing
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Bromance, humor, friendship
Word Count: 1,200
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key, Junhyung/Hyunseung (hinted)
Summary: Somewhere between a mass of papers and scrawled words, between laughs and fear, he loses track of time.
He loses track of time between all his projects.
Junhyung has convinced him he has the talent capacity to write something more than pop music, and while he doesn’t know if that’s true, a murder mystery set in the Victorian era of London is saved to his laptop, a bit more added each night.
Disco seemed to be coming back that summer. He writes carefree lyrics with nonsense English, humming the lines and persuading Kibum into dancing with him, flickering the lights and watching bursts of color skip behind his eyelids.
He stumbles upon some American noir film - Blue Velvet - online. It draws him in and complicates him, showing him sides of humanity he’s never much pondered before. He’s captivated. Junhyung assures him, once again, that he can recreate that kind of emotion and intricacy - but his attempts at prose end in frequent anacoluthia, words never lending themselves to him in a way that defines these feelings at the fringe of his soul. So he takes up a dapper hat, swings on every lamppost for miles at night, and pays homage that way.
It’s not really his project - and sometimes he wonders whose it actually is, because none of his members are owning up and he doesn’t think the staff view them as toys that much - but on the occasional free day he’ll find himself shuffled off to the park. He’ll wear white robes that are unnecessarily hard to put on, sandals that are mildly inappropriate considering the tragic state of his feet, and watch the sunset rays catch every grain of sand, lighting the sandbox up like an inferno.
It’s time to do the Juliette spiel again - for another audience. He catches Kibum’s eyes over the meeting table and it’s almost too easy to picture a feathered mask surrounding the fox-like orbs, a fan showing teasing glimpses of pink lips, the crash of midnight’s tolls as the princess runs away.
They’re doing the Shock shtick again - for another audience. There’s no eye to catch as Junhyung asks him, voice distorted by the distance over the phone and the growl of cars somewhere past the fire escape Jonghyun cradles between thigh and calf, if love will exist in the future. It’s all very profound and thought-compelling, but Jonghyun can only giggle. He tells him that - for those two - there might, but definitely not if he doesn’t make a move. The guy’s so obtuse he’ll never realize unless you say.
Their socked feet slide on the wood floors. Jonghyun doesn’t think this is how fencing is supposed to work: peeling off a layer of sweaty clothes with every jab that manages to land, the paper towel roll swords already crumpling from too many blows. ‘En garde’ is just their air, exhaled between them with mirth and laughter. Minho is looking at them strange, but Jonghyun’s pretty sure Kibum was the only respected one of them anyway.
Tea sits between the two of them, tatami mats and katana by the wayside just a thing of his imagination. Junhyung admits he’s scared in the most off-hand, unintentional way possible, feigning indifference by playing with his topknot (which only the tired Jonghyun sees). Jonghyun tells him it’s better to die trying, and open his belly up for honor, than to never try at all. Junhyung originally came over to hear Jonghyun’s latest quest into writing, but the singer’s not too sure if he wants to hear a coward’s opinion on his script anymore.
The white of the sheet has significantly diminished under the scroll of black across the page. Some lines don’t make sense, but it’s a start. Elephants trumpet, lions roar, swords of enemy and ally alike clang in skoal to him because he is now master over them all. He has conquered.
It’s all a big coincidence, the fog and the Chinese fans. It’s no one else’s fault but his own that it reminds him of his research on opium dens. His eyes get lost in the clouds of white, flush against the black of the night and the blue of manifested support. It’s not the subdued high like he’s read it is because everyone is screaming and very much alive and not looking to escape into artificial hazes. The association is broken. He locates his vulpine drug dancing alone.
Junhyung tells him ‘Sure, go ahead and combine dinosaurs with your story of seedy nobility during the 1800s’ in such a passive-aggressive way that Jonghyun knows the other is still pissed about the bad advice from last time. It had only been an idea, a misguided attempt to make him laugh. It’s alright though. He doesn’t want to make happy someone who hides feelings behind impassive masks, someone who drowns out the scritch-scratch of honest sentiments behind loud vocals and catchy beats. That’s fiction.
He turns his back and Jonghyun immediately feels the loss. Bombs drop in his ears, guns fire and connect, death screams across the world. For a second, it’s the moment global havoc broke out, testing its legs and finding a strong foothold - but then he turns back around and the smile rings in peace.
Jonghyun wakes up, cheek stuck to the warm wood of his desk, assorted tries at being poetic clumping together with aid of drool. He feels disoriented, like time’s swallowed him up and spit him back somewhere new. He’s not that sure how long he’s been in this current daze - he sniffs his shirt - or how long it’s been since he bathed.
He glances down at his hand, still clutching his phone. Junhyung’s succeeded in luring the elusive Hyunseung into a photo, he sees, and the hesitant grins lift something off his heart that had been weighing down his smile. He bets Junhyung has his answer by now.
The door swings open and Kibum walks in, pausing near the doorway before charging in and leaning his hip against the desk, eyes looking down at him through thick frames of black lashes.
“What year is it,” Jonghyun asks. Kibum smirks.
“2813. I have the dress picked out and we’re meeting everybody at the city hall. You need to get ready.”
Jonghyun lifts his face off the desktop, nodding to himself with a frown. He doesn’t have anything nearly formal enough.
“Oh, don’t worry. Dress casually. It’s merely a platonic thing between the two best friends in the world. The papers are just so you don’t screw me out of my money - you and those vocal lessons.”
“No, I was just thinking,” he replies, smiling again and Kibum smiles as well, like the corners of their lips are linked by some invisible thread and their happiness depends on one another, “Jinki-hyung’s going to be pissed.”
The younger male lets out a surprised chuckle, lodged between the well-worn ‘fondness’ and the new-age sound of ‘love’. “Why’s that?”
“Because we’ll be petitioning for full custody of Taemin.”
“It’ll be alright. Hyunseung and Junhyung got Dongwoon, I hear.” Kibum makes this odd hitch of his lips, and while Jonghyun knows what he’s going to say, he doesn’t stop him. These things sound so much better from his mouth. “A boy’s got to be with his mother.”
Time stops for them.
--
Author's Note: So - basically - JunSeung and JongKey came to me last night and forced me to write this. I don't even ship either of these - I really don't - but the words came so easily and... and...
Expect to see more Junhyung/Jonghyun since they make sense to me in a delightful way. And I might do a story showing JunSeung's side if properly inspired.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Bromance, humor, friendship
Word Count: 1,200
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key, Junhyung/Hyunseung (hinted)
Summary: Somewhere between a mass of papers and scrawled words, between laughs and fear, he loses track of time.
He loses track of time between all his projects.
Junhyung has convinced him he has the talent capacity to write something more than pop music, and while he doesn’t know if that’s true, a murder mystery set in the Victorian era of London is saved to his laptop, a bit more added each night.
Disco seemed to be coming back that summer. He writes carefree lyrics with nonsense English, humming the lines and persuading Kibum into dancing with him, flickering the lights and watching bursts of color skip behind his eyelids.
He stumbles upon some American noir film - Blue Velvet - online. It draws him in and complicates him, showing him sides of humanity he’s never much pondered before. He’s captivated. Junhyung assures him, once again, that he can recreate that kind of emotion and intricacy - but his attempts at prose end in frequent anacoluthia, words never lending themselves to him in a way that defines these feelings at the fringe of his soul. So he takes up a dapper hat, swings on every lamppost for miles at night, and pays homage that way.
It’s not really his project - and sometimes he wonders whose it actually is, because none of his members are owning up and he doesn’t think the staff view them as toys that much - but on the occasional free day he’ll find himself shuffled off to the park. He’ll wear white robes that are unnecessarily hard to put on, sandals that are mildly inappropriate considering the tragic state of his feet, and watch the sunset rays catch every grain of sand, lighting the sandbox up like an inferno.
It’s time to do the Juliette spiel again - for another audience. He catches Kibum’s eyes over the meeting table and it’s almost too easy to picture a feathered mask surrounding the fox-like orbs, a fan showing teasing glimpses of pink lips, the crash of midnight’s tolls as the princess runs away.
They’re doing the Shock shtick again - for another audience. There’s no eye to catch as Junhyung asks him, voice distorted by the distance over the phone and the growl of cars somewhere past the fire escape Jonghyun cradles between thigh and calf, if love will exist in the future. It’s all very profound and thought-compelling, but Jonghyun can only giggle. He tells him that - for those two - there might, but definitely not if he doesn’t make a move. The guy’s so obtuse he’ll never realize unless you say.
Their socked feet slide on the wood floors. Jonghyun doesn’t think this is how fencing is supposed to work: peeling off a layer of sweaty clothes with every jab that manages to land, the paper towel roll swords already crumpling from too many blows. ‘En garde’ is just their air, exhaled between them with mirth and laughter. Minho is looking at them strange, but Jonghyun’s pretty sure Kibum was the only respected one of them anyway.
Tea sits between the two of them, tatami mats and katana by the wayside just a thing of his imagination. Junhyung admits he’s scared in the most off-hand, unintentional way possible, feigning indifference by playing with his topknot (which only the tired Jonghyun sees). Jonghyun tells him it’s better to die trying, and open his belly up for honor, than to never try at all. Junhyung originally came over to hear Jonghyun’s latest quest into writing, but the singer’s not too sure if he wants to hear a coward’s opinion on his script anymore.
The white of the sheet has significantly diminished under the scroll of black across the page. Some lines don’t make sense, but it’s a start. Elephants trumpet, lions roar, swords of enemy and ally alike clang in skoal to him because he is now master over them all. He has conquered.
It’s all a big coincidence, the fog and the Chinese fans. It’s no one else’s fault but his own that it reminds him of his research on opium dens. His eyes get lost in the clouds of white, flush against the black of the night and the blue of manifested support. It’s not the subdued high like he’s read it is because everyone is screaming and very much alive and not looking to escape into artificial hazes. The association is broken. He locates his vulpine drug dancing alone.
Junhyung tells him ‘Sure, go ahead and combine dinosaurs with your story of seedy nobility during the 1800s’ in such a passive-aggressive way that Jonghyun knows the other is still pissed about the bad advice from last time. It had only been an idea, a misguided attempt to make him laugh. It’s alright though. He doesn’t want to make happy someone who hides feelings behind impassive masks, someone who drowns out the scritch-scratch of honest sentiments behind loud vocals and catchy beats. That’s fiction.
He turns his back and Jonghyun immediately feels the loss. Bombs drop in his ears, guns fire and connect, death screams across the world. For a second, it’s the moment global havoc broke out, testing its legs and finding a strong foothold - but then he turns back around and the smile rings in peace.
Jonghyun wakes up, cheek stuck to the warm wood of his desk, assorted tries at being poetic clumping together with aid of drool. He feels disoriented, like time’s swallowed him up and spit him back somewhere new. He’s not that sure how long he’s been in this current daze - he sniffs his shirt - or how long it’s been since he bathed.
He glances down at his hand, still clutching his phone. Junhyung’s succeeded in luring the elusive Hyunseung into a photo, he sees, and the hesitant grins lift something off his heart that had been weighing down his smile. He bets Junhyung has his answer by now.
The door swings open and Kibum walks in, pausing near the doorway before charging in and leaning his hip against the desk, eyes looking down at him through thick frames of black lashes.
“What year is it,” Jonghyun asks. Kibum smirks.
“2813. I have the dress picked out and we’re meeting everybody at the city hall. You need to get ready.”
Jonghyun lifts his face off the desktop, nodding to himself with a frown. He doesn’t have anything nearly formal enough.
“Oh, don’t worry. Dress casually. It’s merely a platonic thing between the two best friends in the world. The papers are just so you don’t screw me out of my money - you and those vocal lessons.”
“No, I was just thinking,” he replies, smiling again and Kibum smiles as well, like the corners of their lips are linked by some invisible thread and their happiness depends on one another, “Jinki-hyung’s going to be pissed.”
The younger male lets out a surprised chuckle, lodged between the well-worn ‘fondness’ and the new-age sound of ‘love’. “Why’s that?”
“Because we’ll be petitioning for full custody of Taemin.”
“It’ll be alright. Hyunseung and Junhyung got Dongwoon, I hear.” Kibum makes this odd hitch of his lips, and while Jonghyun knows what he’s going to say, he doesn’t stop him. These things sound so much better from his mouth. “A boy’s got to be with his mother.”
Time stops for them.
--
Author's Note: So - basically - JunSeung and JongKey came to me last night and forced me to write this. I don't even ship either of these - I really don't - but the words came so easily and... and...
Expect to see more Junhyung/Jonghyun since they make sense to me in a delightful way. And I might do a story showing JunSeung's side if properly inspired.