love it when you do that thing, so insane
after you
yunho&jaejoong;
pg, romance
based on yunho's michael jackson tribute
after you.
Flashlights. Rehearsals. Broadway.
Music, reigning over carpets and crimson
curtains-blood and sweat of a thousand artistes.
He catches glimpses, smoky-eyed fumes of spark and
dry ice. Yunho, haloed in whitewashed limelight,
wearing his expression of the finest dress.
The dancer was born for the stage.
As was the electric smile he’d been given.
When you dance I can tell you apart.
Like first glances. First dates. First loves.
His moonwalk-the footwork of a triple crown winner.
His passion-undefeated.
An array of fireworks explode, spiraling above like the
unthinkable. Beneath the murmur of
disconcert an endless applause.
Hypnotic. The magic of
the moment.
This is it.
A million and one fans gather by the entrance.
A million and one, and then one less because he waits by the backdoor, where nobody would think to look.
Shrieks erupt. Ecstatic or misled, he wouldn’t be able to tell.
A hand tugs at his bag. An ambush in the still of the night.
He turns-star/struck.
Like Yunho had fallen from the clouds in glitter and shining paint.
‘I thought you left,’ Jaejoong says, confounded by the screaming fans, who had begun chasing after the vehicle supposedly containing Yunho.
‘Stunt-double,’ he jokes, flashing a parade of teeth. ‘The fans think I’ve gone home.’
But you haven’t-not for a long time.
Home is where the heart is.
Where is your heart? Jaejoong wonders, watching bands of yellow play against the sleek of Yunho’s made-up skin.
Metallic. A shade not quite unlike sunshine.
Nothing gold can stay.
‘I brought you something,’ Jaejoong whispers.
‘A fan-gift?’ The dancer’s throat tightens despite, as if he’d uttered the words before filtering the distance.
The distance between himself and Jaejoong.
That inseparable gap.
‘Vitamins,’ Jaejoong replies, brushing off the despair of having everything and then nothing at all.
Was it just last year that it happened?
That reality turned out more devastating than they’d expected.
Don’t speak it. Don’t say it and it never did.
‘I have to go back inside,’ Yunho says, letting his hands linger.
Distorted reflections, bent into the glass of a rear-view mirror.
Sweat disguised as tears.
Was it me that it has come to this?
He raises a towel to Yunho’s face, dabs away the saline and the glitter and the colors of the rich and famous.
Bronze and bare-faced.
Exceedingly beautiful.
…Nothing gold can stay.
‘You coming in?’ Yunho asks, a traitor with his voice.
Like being caught stealing the night with Jaejoong held little consequence.
He leaves the door through the exit ajar. Yet another black hole.
It’s the witching hour, but no one’s around to burn them at the stake.
Even so.
Who were they to decide what becomes of us?
It appeared a slow blur, as if he’d been walking under water. As if he’d been reaching too far for the moon.
Halfway. Past the lines of need and want into simply having. Halfway.
After the man he calls their leader.
yunho&jaejoong;
pg, romance
based on yunho's michael jackson tribute
after you.
Flashlights. Rehearsals. Broadway.
Music, reigning over carpets and crimson
curtains-blood and sweat of a thousand artistes.
He catches glimpses, smoky-eyed fumes of spark and
dry ice. Yunho, haloed in whitewashed limelight,
wearing his expression of the finest dress.
The dancer was born for the stage.
As was the electric smile he’d been given.
When you dance I can tell you apart.
Like first glances. First dates. First loves.
His moonwalk-the footwork of a triple crown winner.
His passion-undefeated.
An array of fireworks explode, spiraling above like the
unthinkable. Beneath the murmur of
disconcert an endless applause.
Hypnotic. The magic of
the moment.
This is it.
A million and one fans gather by the entrance.
A million and one, and then one less because he waits by the backdoor, where nobody would think to look.
Shrieks erupt. Ecstatic or misled, he wouldn’t be able to tell.
A hand tugs at his bag. An ambush in the still of the night.
He turns-star/struck.
Like Yunho had fallen from the clouds in glitter and shining paint.
‘I thought you left,’ Jaejoong says, confounded by the screaming fans, who had begun chasing after the vehicle supposedly containing Yunho.
‘Stunt-double,’ he jokes, flashing a parade of teeth. ‘The fans think I’ve gone home.’
But you haven’t-not for a long time.
Home is where the heart is.
Where is your heart? Jaejoong wonders, watching bands of yellow play against the sleek of Yunho’s made-up skin.
Metallic. A shade not quite unlike sunshine.
Nothing gold can stay.
‘I brought you something,’ Jaejoong whispers.
‘A fan-gift?’ The dancer’s throat tightens despite, as if he’d uttered the words before filtering the distance.
The distance between himself and Jaejoong.
That inseparable gap.
‘Vitamins,’ Jaejoong replies, brushing off the despair of having everything and then nothing at all.
Was it just last year that it happened?
That reality turned out more devastating than they’d expected.
Don’t speak it. Don’t say it and it never did.
‘I have to go back inside,’ Yunho says, letting his hands linger.
Distorted reflections, bent into the glass of a rear-view mirror.
Sweat disguised as tears.
Was it me that it has come to this?
He raises a towel to Yunho’s face, dabs away the saline and the glitter and the colors of the rich and famous.
Bronze and bare-faced.
Exceedingly beautiful.
…Nothing gold can stay.
‘You coming in?’ Yunho asks, a traitor with his voice.
Like being caught stealing the night with Jaejoong held little consequence.
He leaves the door through the exit ajar. Yet another black hole.
It’s the witching hour, but no one’s around to burn them at the stake.
Even so.
Who were they to decide what becomes of us?
It appeared a slow blur, as if he’d been walking under water. As if he’d been reaching too far for the moon.
Halfway. Past the lines of need and want into simply having. Halfway.
After the man he calls their leader.