fic-DBSK-Hand in Hand-Chapter 7
Title: Hand in Hand: Chapter 7
Author: virdant
Length: 1,329 words; multi-part (7/9)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Tragedy, Angst, AU, Sci-fi
Pairing: JaeChun, HoSu, (HoMin)
Summary: “What makes a person real?” Yunho asks, staring ahead. He didn’t want to do this, Junsu remembers. He shook his head and protested that he was done with the counsel, but Jaejoong pleaded and said: but Yoochun’s as real as you and me.
Warning: Disturbing Content.
Notes: For everybody that's been following this fic. Much much thanks to 'lina, Elly, Josey, Juhi & Hermis. Dunno what would've happened if it weren't for them.
[Chapter 1] / [Chapter 2] / [Chapter 3] / [Chapter 4] / [Chapter 5] / [Chapter 6]
Hand in Hand
Chapter 7
“I don’t like this,” Junsu whispers angrily. He would yell, but words still come out awkwardly, and he doesn’t want to know that sound would slip out if he yells.
“Don’t you want to?” Jaejoong asks just as softly, turning around to smile faintly at Junsu. “Know, I mean.”
No.
Jung Yunho walks up ahead, face turned away. The pathways in the city counsel are all the same to Junsu, who’s used to walls and a window with iron bars welded to it. Junsu remembers the differences between grey concrete and grey concrete with minute spider cracks dancing along it, but walls of sterile white are too bright for him to stare at.
He clings to Jaejoong’s arm and keeps his eyes from opening fully, almost frightened of going blind.
He remembers having no voice.
He doesn’t want to have no eyes.
“No,” Junsu manages to whisper back. “I don’t want to know about your program. I don’t know why you care.”
“Yoochun’s not just a program,” Jaejoong replies, a flash of anger lingering under his voice.
Jung Yunho turns around and frowns slightly: at Jaejoong’s outburst or Junsu’s stubborn insistence that Yoochun’s just a program, Junsu doesn’t know at which.
“He’s real,” Jaejoong continues, more softly.
Junsu remembers the lullabies Hyukjae sang to him, the stories he told in a jumbled rush of syllables because there was never enough time to tell all the stories of the world, the joy he laughed for him, because there was no voice for him to sing back, talk back, laugh back.
Junsu laughs.
“What makes a person real?” Yunho asks, staring ahead. He didn’t want to do this, Junsu remembers. He shook his head and protested that he was done with the counsel, but Jaejoong pleaded and said: but Yoochun’s as real as you and me.
And Yunho shook his head and said: I’m sorry.
I’ll do it.
Now Junsu walks, one hand wrapped around Jaejoong’s arm, head bowed down, counting footsteps. It’s awkward, walking straight without turns for so long. Awkward existing outside the four grey walls that made up his life for so many years.
They walk in unison. Step by step, towards what Junsu knows is their doom.
Jaejoong pinches him sharply, and Junsu bites back a yelp. “Don’t,” he whispers.
“Don’t what?” Junsu hisses back.
Yunho pretends they don’t exist from his position ahead of them.
“Don’t pretend that you don’t care. Don’t pretend to think that this’ wrong. Don’t stand there and whisper that this is the wrong thing to do and not do anything.
“What happened to the Kim Junsu that Yoochun told me about?”
*
Hyukjae, for the three weeks that Junsu knew him, breathed with Junsu, laughed for Junsu, and lived with Junsu.
Junsu thinks: this might be love, the day after he meets Eunhyuk, who asks for nothing and gives everything in return. He knows, after he’s talked to Changmin, that Eunhyuk was designed to take everything but give nothing in return, the way all programs were designed.
But it’s not Eunhyuk. He’s Hyukjae. Hyukjae who smiled at Junsu from the screen when Changmin closed his eyes and said, “His name is Hyukjae,” while gesturing towards the smiling boy on the screen.
“Hyukjae is real,” Junsu said, and smiled. “I. Can I meet him?”
“I don’t know,” Changmin said, and shrugged. “Maybe. One day.”
Junsu reached awed fingers towards the smile on the screen. “I want to meet him. I want to meet Hyukjae.”
“And I want to meet Yoochun,” Jaejoong replies, and Junsu realizes that he’s spoken aloud. “Why can’t you understand that?”
Junsu shakes his head. “You’ve never even seen him. How do you even know if he’s real?”
Jaejoong shakes his head. “I’ve talked to him. I laughed with him, sang with him, breathed with him. How much more real-”
“Stop,” Yunho interrupts, curtly but softly. Jaejoong frowns, and opens his mouth to protest. Three steps ahead of them, Jung Yunho pauses at a door, hand on a panel. It glows an ominous red where his fingers are. He turns around and smiles bitterly at them.
“What are you doing?” Junsu asks.
“Yunho?” Jaejoong whispers.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Yunho says, backing up, shaking his head. A siren rings, the noise too loud, too shrill, and too sudden compared to the silence of before.
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I know now. Please,” Junsu echoes, disbelieving. He can’t believe that Jung Yunho has just betrayed them. He can’t believe that he’s standing here, listening to the sound of guards running, running, running toward them, preparing to take them and lock them in the room that only has grey.
“No,” Yunho says, firmly, straightening to stand tall. “I’m simply sorry.”
Jaejoong laughs cruelly. “So this is what you’re here for? To trick us? To dangle Yoochun in front of our faces and then take him away?”
Yunho shakes his head. “No. You don’t understand.”
Jaejoong sneers. “I understand perfectly well, bastard.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re a traitor.”
“Shut up!”
And Junsu remembers.
*
He is eleven, standing on the corner of the tracks, where people flow on and off again. He is standing, fingers clutched together, singing old love songs, the strange syllables odd in his ears. He doesn’t know what language he’s singing, just the sounds that he heard from his mother, his father, his brother, his grandparents. Saranghae, he sings, and he thinks that maybe this is what love sounds like.
He is twelve, and there is a guard that watches him everyday. He sings louder because of this guard, who watches him from where Junsu can see him but only if he strains and peeks at the reflection from the bits of metal jutting out from the tracks. But he sees Yunho everyday. Yunho who watches from under the tracks and whispers: if only I could sing with you at night.
He is thirteen, and Jung Yunho, who Junsu thought might have sang with him, another life ago, doesn’t hesitate when he walks up and recites: Kim Junsu, you have been found guilty. Junsu keeps singing though, and he smiles at Yunho as he sings: I want to fly to the sun and the moon, just want to travel with you. Do it, Junsu thinks, and when Jung Yunho stabs the neutralizer into his neck, he falls gladly, because this way at least Jung Yunho will be safe.
He is fourteen, singing until his throat hurts day after day, trapped in a grey cell that the city counsel calls a room. He sings, and each word he sings is sucked up by grey silence until he starts wondering: is he singing? He can’t be, otherwise why would Yunho come in, everyday, and scream at him to: just stop? He needs to sing more.
He is fifteen. Jung Yunho stands in front of him, face blank. Junsu sings: I will love you with my life.
For a second, Jung Yunho’s face crumbles. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
I will give you all of my love, and in return, I ask to hold your pain, Junsu continues.
Jung Yunho whispers, “Just stop singing.”
Junsu shakes his head. They can hear you, Junsu thinks. They can hear you, and now you will never be safe from them. They will remember this, Yunho, Junsu wants to say. They will remember how you refused them.
Yunho reaches forward, presses his hand to Junsu’s throat, and squeezes.
Junsu tries to relax. Tries. But he can’t breathe, and he can’t breathe, and it hurts, and his fingers scrabble at Yunho’s hands, larger than his, and he can’t breath, he can’t, he can’t. He doesn’t want to die.
“Shut up,” Yunho whispers again, “shut up.”
Junsu screams, “I won’t! I won’t!”
“Shut up!”
When he wakes up from darkness, his voice has been stolen from him, and he does not even remember who Jung Yunho is.
But Junsu remembers.
TBC. [Chapter 8]
Yes, I butchered dates to fit in with this AU. Isn't it lovely?
Also. I'm not going to apologize for taking so long to post, because I was all ready to post on Monday, and then ~800 words managed to vanish themselves, probably through some fault of mine. So I've been gnashing my teeth and fussing and I don't think this manages to say half of what I wanted it to, but maybe the writing's better. I don't know. All I know is that it took a long time and I'm still upset over losing those words.
All the same, in unrelated news? The suite is filled with red balloons. My inner fangirl is happy. It's not a long story, but it's unrelated. And I just felt like sharing. Rofl.
Expect an update either very very soon, or two weeks later. Probably very very soon, since two weeks later goes against my carefully organized monthly plan.
Author: virdant
Length: 1,329 words; multi-part (7/9)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Tragedy, Angst, AU, Sci-fi
Pairing: JaeChun, HoSu, (HoMin)
Summary: “What makes a person real?” Yunho asks, staring ahead. He didn’t want to do this, Junsu remembers. He shook his head and protested that he was done with the counsel, but Jaejoong pleaded and said: but Yoochun’s as real as you and me.
Warning: Disturbing Content.
Notes: For everybody that's been following this fic. Much much thanks to 'lina, Elly, Josey, Juhi & Hermis. Dunno what would've happened if it weren't for them.
[Chapter 1] / [Chapter 2] / [Chapter 3] / [Chapter 4] / [Chapter 5] / [Chapter 6]
Hand in Hand
Chapter 7
“I don’t like this,” Junsu whispers angrily. He would yell, but words still come out awkwardly, and he doesn’t want to know that sound would slip out if he yells.
“Don’t you want to?” Jaejoong asks just as softly, turning around to smile faintly at Junsu. “Know, I mean.”
No.
Jung Yunho walks up ahead, face turned away. The pathways in the city counsel are all the same to Junsu, who’s used to walls and a window with iron bars welded to it. Junsu remembers the differences between grey concrete and grey concrete with minute spider cracks dancing along it, but walls of sterile white are too bright for him to stare at.
He clings to Jaejoong’s arm and keeps his eyes from opening fully, almost frightened of going blind.
He remembers having no voice.
He doesn’t want to have no eyes.
“No,” Junsu manages to whisper back. “I don’t want to know about your program. I don’t know why you care.”
“Yoochun’s not just a program,” Jaejoong replies, a flash of anger lingering under his voice.
Jung Yunho turns around and frowns slightly: at Jaejoong’s outburst or Junsu’s stubborn insistence that Yoochun’s just a program, Junsu doesn’t know at which.
“He’s real,” Jaejoong continues, more softly.
Junsu remembers the lullabies Hyukjae sang to him, the stories he told in a jumbled rush of syllables because there was never enough time to tell all the stories of the world, the joy he laughed for him, because there was no voice for him to sing back, talk back, laugh back.
Junsu laughs.
“What makes a person real?” Yunho asks, staring ahead. He didn’t want to do this, Junsu remembers. He shook his head and protested that he was done with the counsel, but Jaejoong pleaded and said: but Yoochun’s as real as you and me.
And Yunho shook his head and said: I’m sorry.
I’ll do it.
Now Junsu walks, one hand wrapped around Jaejoong’s arm, head bowed down, counting footsteps. It’s awkward, walking straight without turns for so long. Awkward existing outside the four grey walls that made up his life for so many years.
They walk in unison. Step by step, towards what Junsu knows is their doom.
Jaejoong pinches him sharply, and Junsu bites back a yelp. “Don’t,” he whispers.
“Don’t what?” Junsu hisses back.
Yunho pretends they don’t exist from his position ahead of them.
“Don’t pretend that you don’t care. Don’t pretend to think that this’ wrong. Don’t stand there and whisper that this is the wrong thing to do and not do anything.
“What happened to the Kim Junsu that Yoochun told me about?”
*
Hyukjae, for the three weeks that Junsu knew him, breathed with Junsu, laughed for Junsu, and lived with Junsu.
Junsu thinks: this might be love, the day after he meets Eunhyuk, who asks for nothing and gives everything in return. He knows, after he’s talked to Changmin, that Eunhyuk was designed to take everything but give nothing in return, the way all programs were designed.
But it’s not Eunhyuk. He’s Hyukjae. Hyukjae who smiled at Junsu from the screen when Changmin closed his eyes and said, “His name is Hyukjae,” while gesturing towards the smiling boy on the screen.
“Hyukjae is real,” Junsu said, and smiled. “I. Can I meet him?”
“I don’t know,” Changmin said, and shrugged. “Maybe. One day.”
Junsu reached awed fingers towards the smile on the screen. “I want to meet him. I want to meet Hyukjae.”
“And I want to meet Yoochun,” Jaejoong replies, and Junsu realizes that he’s spoken aloud. “Why can’t you understand that?”
Junsu shakes his head. “You’ve never even seen him. How do you even know if he’s real?”
Jaejoong shakes his head. “I’ve talked to him. I laughed with him, sang with him, breathed with him. How much more real-”
“Stop,” Yunho interrupts, curtly but softly. Jaejoong frowns, and opens his mouth to protest. Three steps ahead of them, Jung Yunho pauses at a door, hand on a panel. It glows an ominous red where his fingers are. He turns around and smiles bitterly at them.
“What are you doing?” Junsu asks.
“Yunho?” Jaejoong whispers.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Yunho says, backing up, shaking his head. A siren rings, the noise too loud, too shrill, and too sudden compared to the silence of before.
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I know now. Please,” Junsu echoes, disbelieving. He can’t believe that Jung Yunho has just betrayed them. He can’t believe that he’s standing here, listening to the sound of guards running, running, running toward them, preparing to take them and lock them in the room that only has grey.
“No,” Yunho says, firmly, straightening to stand tall. “I’m simply sorry.”
Jaejoong laughs cruelly. “So this is what you’re here for? To trick us? To dangle Yoochun in front of our faces and then take him away?”
Yunho shakes his head. “No. You don’t understand.”
Jaejoong sneers. “I understand perfectly well, bastard.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re a traitor.”
“Shut up!”
And Junsu remembers.
*
He is eleven, standing on the corner of the tracks, where people flow on and off again. He is standing, fingers clutched together, singing old love songs, the strange syllables odd in his ears. He doesn’t know what language he’s singing, just the sounds that he heard from his mother, his father, his brother, his grandparents. Saranghae, he sings, and he thinks that maybe this is what love sounds like.
He is twelve, and there is a guard that watches him everyday. He sings louder because of this guard, who watches him from where Junsu can see him but only if he strains and peeks at the reflection from the bits of metal jutting out from the tracks. But he sees Yunho everyday. Yunho who watches from under the tracks and whispers: if only I could sing with you at night.
He is thirteen, and Jung Yunho, who Junsu thought might have sang with him, another life ago, doesn’t hesitate when he walks up and recites: Kim Junsu, you have been found guilty. Junsu keeps singing though, and he smiles at Yunho as he sings: I want to fly to the sun and the moon, just want to travel with you. Do it, Junsu thinks, and when Jung Yunho stabs the neutralizer into his neck, he falls gladly, because this way at least Jung Yunho will be safe.
He is fourteen, singing until his throat hurts day after day, trapped in a grey cell that the city counsel calls a room. He sings, and each word he sings is sucked up by grey silence until he starts wondering: is he singing? He can’t be, otherwise why would Yunho come in, everyday, and scream at him to: just stop? He needs to sing more.
He is fifteen. Jung Yunho stands in front of him, face blank. Junsu sings: I will love you with my life.
For a second, Jung Yunho’s face crumbles. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
I will give you all of my love, and in return, I ask to hold your pain, Junsu continues.
Jung Yunho whispers, “Just stop singing.”
Junsu shakes his head. They can hear you, Junsu thinks. They can hear you, and now you will never be safe from them. They will remember this, Yunho, Junsu wants to say. They will remember how you refused them.
Yunho reaches forward, presses his hand to Junsu’s throat, and squeezes.
Junsu tries to relax. Tries. But he can’t breathe, and he can’t breathe, and it hurts, and his fingers scrabble at Yunho’s hands, larger than his, and he can’t breath, he can’t, he can’t. He doesn’t want to die.
“Shut up,” Yunho whispers again, “shut up.”
Junsu screams, “I won’t! I won’t!”
“Shut up!”
When he wakes up from darkness, his voice has been stolen from him, and he does not even remember who Jung Yunho is.
But Junsu remembers.
TBC. [Chapter 8]
Yes, I butchered dates to fit in with this AU. Isn't it lovely?
Also. I'm not going to apologize for taking so long to post, because I was all ready to post on Monday, and then ~800 words managed to vanish themselves, probably through some fault of mine. So I've been gnashing my teeth and fussing and I don't think this manages to say half of what I wanted it to, but maybe the writing's better. I don't know. All I know is that it took a long time and I'm still upset over losing those words.
All the same, in unrelated news? The suite is filled with red balloons. My inner fangirl is happy. It's not a long story, but it's unrelated. And I just felt like sharing. Rofl.
Expect an update either very very soon, or two weeks later. Probably very very soon, since two weeks later goes against my carefully organized monthly plan.