[2PM; chansung/junho]
title: time doesn't heal, it wears you down
pairing: chansung/junho
rating: pg-13
warning: character death
summary: war!au
2,040w.
a/n: based on ongew's drabble (#1) which can be found here. this fic is so messy, god, i'm sorry.
It’s strange, how your life for over three years - but what feels like forever - can fit into a backpack swung effortlessly across your back. A couple of t-shirts, a pair of pants, a water bottle, some canned food and you’re ready to go; ready to take over the world-or technically you’re just taking back control of your life.
-
Chansung would lie if he said he wasn’t scared; he was scared shitless. In the early morning, he’d checked their weapons, made sure they had enough ammo, and paced around their tiny man-made shack to check that they hadn’t forgotten about anything. It was still dark outside, but he reckoned it’d be safer to move now than ever. Junho was packing his bag, his eyes avoiding Chansung’s but it’s not like the said male didn’t know. They needed no words to speak for what they felt which was a sense of relief and fear, that everything would finally be over, yet the finality in that truth made them lose their appetite and sleep. After years of fighting against Black Dragons, BDs, Chansung realized he didn’t know what he was fighting for anymore. It used to be friendship that he’d fought for, for all those lives that were lost on the battlefield that smelled of bodies and the thick smoke coming from hell itself. It used to be for the sake of his country, their country: home. But now that Chansung looked back, he realized how big of a fool he’d been: this war was never going to end; people were going to kill each other until there’s no last man standing, until the Earth lets out a sigh in relief for the day that its freedom of polluted mankind has finally come. Chansung released a breath he wasn’t aware of holding.
-
BDs were an army of men with no past. Their gazes were empty, sharp, and their bodies built, strong legs and firm arms underneath the thick black uniform. After using a bunch of POWs as guinea pigs, the government’s statement regarding the matter was terse: “We don’t know who they are; they refuse to talk, eat, sleep or do anything for that matter. We don’t know what we’re facing, and as a nation under these difficult times, we need everyone to stick together as one.”
Stick together as one, they say
The first encounter happened years ago, probably when Chansung was still in high school, his arm slung around some cute girl's shoulders and a basketball tucked under his other arm, as a marching troop crossed the border sending soldiers to the ground. Chansung remembers in detail the distressed look on his father’s face, as the old man surrendered with a tired sigh escaping his chapped lips. His father was never a man with many words, but sending his two sons away to war had made him bite back remarks that threatened to spill otherwise. Chansung was only seventeen when he joined forces, his older brother a little over twenty but too young to die nonetheless. His brother beside him, Chansung turned to steal one last glance at their house’s front porch, his mother’s lilac petunias, and the old, wooden rocking chair where he used to sit and read her her favorite poems. The sky was red, clear from any clouds, while the smell of raw flesh and oxidized iron hovered in the air. It was the first time Chansung smelled death.
-
Lying in the bottom bunk, sleep reluctant to come to him, Chansung listens to the whispers the walls make, and counts the day’s passing touches and stolen glances. He can hear Junho shifting warily on the top bunk and holds his breath at twenty-seven; their hands brushing against each other in the cafeteria.
“I love you.”
-
"Let's run away," Chansung whispers, and Junho knows it in his heart he wants to do it. "Let's cross the sea and find a better place."
-
Sometimes it’s not the things you say out loud that matter, but the things left unsaid, stuck in your throat, making breathing harder that counts. Like how Junho could only nod in answer to Chansung's proposition when in reality it had meant so much more, and they both knew it. Everything was in that one slight movement of his head that spoke more than a million words would; it spoke of the certainty Junho had on Chansung, had on their building relationship, that started way before neither of them could even think to resist.
One for all,
but-
The pull was there right from the beginning. Chansung, eighteen around that time, had already gotten used to getting treated as the youngest of the group; the hyungs would share food with him, add a few more spoonful of rice into his bowl as he rewarded them all with a bright smile that made his lips curl around the edges. In return, Chansung played his role as the carefree maknae dutifully, always doing his best, his everything, to keep the mood up. He never mentioned the guys that didn’t come back from mission even if the hyungs sometimes found him staring at the front-gate like he was using pure will power to make those heavy metal doors slide open and reveal dirtied, shaken up soldiers he called his brothers. Junho was always there though, standing a few feet away, his eyes on Chansung's back. And maybe they both knew then. Both being trained to fight, destroy, kill, and survive, there was no way Chansung didn’t register the sound of Junho's footsteps or his even breathing with a hint of sorrow and restraint tugging; they were in love, hopelessly, like a pair of teenagers on the verge of finding out what life’s really about.
-
Junho felt tired on most days. What once used to be their base filled with laughter and pranks pulled on each other, had now become eerily silent. Transfer after transfer, he found himself left behind with Chansung as the two youngest of their group. They both had reached the point of not wanting to build new friendships long ago; it was too cruel to watch your friends leave and never come back. Junho knew there was the possibility that the hyungs weren’t dead: maybe they got transferred to another base or maybe they were still fighting, but that was an option he didn’t even want to think about let along hope for. Soon it’d be him and Chansung packing up their stuff and getting ready to open fire at the enemy. It was hard to imagine Chansung going so far as to taking lives but then again, that’s what he’s trained for and Junho'd seen the boy in practice when his eyes turned dark, almost black as coal.
The political milieu in South Korea was disorganized. The government kept blaming North Korea for recruiting Black Dragons using the fact that the troop had crossed over MDL. This accusation only added fuel to the fire, causing both parties to cut all ties and treaties ensuring peace between nations. Chansung and Junho were sent on a mission, and just like many other men, or boys rather, who left before the two, nobody expected them to come back.
Sacrifices need to be made for a greater cause, they say
It wasn’t supposed to be like this; Chansung and Junho were supposed to die. Their destiny was to fall down fighting, taking your last breath as the gun in your hand fired toward the enemy, the act of indignity that is running away was never part of anything planned. Chansung felt sick to the stomach as the shame washed over him, the firearms weighing heavy on his shoulders as he glanced over at Junho.
“Will you regret this?” He asked in a low voice, not because the enemy might hear them but because his chest tightened uncomfortably as he waited for Junho's reply.
“I don’t know,” Junho's eyes met his as their moving halted. At least he’s being honest, Chansung thought, and tried to force a weak smile that came out rather crooked and not that credible.
Your eyes were so bright,
Couldn’t they see it?
How could they take away something so
precious?
Chansung's smile was washed away quickly as he turned to his right, spotting movement behind dense bushes.
“We’re being ambushed.”
Junho didn’t hesitate because they’d done it many times before. He bent down and moved to the left, thankful once again for his flexibility that allowed him to move effortlessly, almost gracefully, as he located a small group of Black Dragons. He set his rifle on the ground and positioned himself, finger on the trigger and eyes hard. He looked up to see Chansung signing him to shoot before switching on his sniper mode. The rifle supported on the ground is his power as Junho plays a superhero for a short while, bullets landing perfectly between the men’s eyes as they fall back.
They had done it way too many times for mistakes to take place yet one glance over at Chansung, and Junho knew something was wrong. The smoke burned his eyes as he struggled to see a few feet ahead. Chansung was trained for close combat fights not distance, which is why they worked together so seamlessly; Junho would shoot down enemies from afar with his sharp eyes and quick movement, while Chansung readied the grenades. The setup wasn’t perfect but it worked, until now.
“Get down!” Junho screamed, reaching for his grenade launcher and attaching it to the rifle. He still couldn’t see the other but only hoped Chansung heard him over the gunshots that echoed in the forest.
There was a possibility that a few of BDs were still lurking behind bushes, alive, but Junho was done with being rational as he still couldn’t hear a response of any sort coming from Chansung’s side after a minute of launching grenades and successfully killing off at least most if not all of their enemies. Ties came with a great cost, and losing Chansung would cost him his everything, Junho knew that much.
“Chansung!” He screamed, hands flailing to keep the smoke away.
“Chansung! Goddammit answer me, or I swear I’ll shoot you myself!” A weak laugh came along a dry cough a little to his right as Junho struggled to stay up, his knees suddenly growing weak with fear for the worst.
“Chansung?” Junho could make out the soft lines of the other soldier lying on the ground, his back pressed up against a large tree trunk with his eyes closed.
“You’re not getting rid of me just yet, Junho-ah,” Chansung’s voice was barely there as he hissed in pain after another cough.
“Stop talking. You’re hurt, you idiot.” Junho bit down on his lip to keep from panicking at the sight of deep red mixed with dirt running down Chansung’s left arm. They had to be quick in case another group of BDs had heard the shooting and would be on their way there. Junho ripped the sleeve of his shirt, and tied the fabric tightly around the wound, ignoring Chansung’s grunts that tugged on his heart just a little bit (yet enough to hurt).
“Come on, we have to move fast.” He said, hand brushing Chansung’s hair away from his face. Junho’s calloused fingertips could still feel the softness of the jet-black strands stuck to the forehead, dirty with soil, before he found it in himself to pull Chansung up as they moved like shadows they’d become in time.
I never said “I love you”
Years later, he will go back and look at his past as something that never happened. It’s easier to deny the war’s existence, the government’s betrayal, the blood spill-and Chansung. The man, whose mere existence had kept him alive, was like a gentle pure spring breeze, sweeping across his heart, making it swell impossibly. Junho makes songs about Chansung because the man can only exist in lyrics and melody. Meaningless scribbles come to life as Chansung’s face appears on the sheet smilingsmilingsmiling. He's able to breathe again, for a little while.
One for all, and all for one
But don’t they know,
Nothing will ever compare to you
pairing: chansung/junho
rating: pg-13
warning: character death
summary: war!au
2,040w.
a/n: based on ongew's drabble (#1) which can be found here. this fic is so messy, god, i'm sorry.
It’s strange, how your life for over three years - but what feels like forever - can fit into a backpack swung effortlessly across your back. A couple of t-shirts, a pair of pants, a water bottle, some canned food and you’re ready to go; ready to take over the world-or technically you’re just taking back control of your life.
-
Chansung would lie if he said he wasn’t scared; he was scared shitless. In the early morning, he’d checked their weapons, made sure they had enough ammo, and paced around their tiny man-made shack to check that they hadn’t forgotten about anything. It was still dark outside, but he reckoned it’d be safer to move now than ever. Junho was packing his bag, his eyes avoiding Chansung’s but it’s not like the said male didn’t know. They needed no words to speak for what they felt which was a sense of relief and fear, that everything would finally be over, yet the finality in that truth made them lose their appetite and sleep. After years of fighting against Black Dragons, BDs, Chansung realized he didn’t know what he was fighting for anymore. It used to be friendship that he’d fought for, for all those lives that were lost on the battlefield that smelled of bodies and the thick smoke coming from hell itself. It used to be for the sake of his country, their country: home. But now that Chansung looked back, he realized how big of a fool he’d been: this war was never going to end; people were going to kill each other until there’s no last man standing, until the Earth lets out a sigh in relief for the day that its freedom of polluted mankind has finally come. Chansung released a breath he wasn’t aware of holding.
-
BDs were an army of men with no past. Their gazes were empty, sharp, and their bodies built, strong legs and firm arms underneath the thick black uniform. After using a bunch of POWs as guinea pigs, the government’s statement regarding the matter was terse: “We don’t know who they are; they refuse to talk, eat, sleep or do anything for that matter. We don’t know what we’re facing, and as a nation under these difficult times, we need everyone to stick together as one.”
Stick together as one, they say
The first encounter happened years ago, probably when Chansung was still in high school, his arm slung around some cute girl's shoulders and a basketball tucked under his other arm, as a marching troop crossed the border sending soldiers to the ground. Chansung remembers in detail the distressed look on his father’s face, as the old man surrendered with a tired sigh escaping his chapped lips. His father was never a man with many words, but sending his two sons away to war had made him bite back remarks that threatened to spill otherwise. Chansung was only seventeen when he joined forces, his older brother a little over twenty but too young to die nonetheless. His brother beside him, Chansung turned to steal one last glance at their house’s front porch, his mother’s lilac petunias, and the old, wooden rocking chair where he used to sit and read her her favorite poems. The sky was red, clear from any clouds, while the smell of raw flesh and oxidized iron hovered in the air. It was the first time Chansung smelled death.
-
Lying in the bottom bunk, sleep reluctant to come to him, Chansung listens to the whispers the walls make, and counts the day’s passing touches and stolen glances. He can hear Junho shifting warily on the top bunk and holds his breath at twenty-seven; their hands brushing against each other in the cafeteria.
“I love you.”
-
"Let's run away," Chansung whispers, and Junho knows it in his heart he wants to do it. "Let's cross the sea and find a better place."
-
Sometimes it’s not the things you say out loud that matter, but the things left unsaid, stuck in your throat, making breathing harder that counts. Like how Junho could only nod in answer to Chansung's proposition when in reality it had meant so much more, and they both knew it. Everything was in that one slight movement of his head that spoke more than a million words would; it spoke of the certainty Junho had on Chansung, had on their building relationship, that started way before neither of them could even think to resist.
One for all,
but-
The pull was there right from the beginning. Chansung, eighteen around that time, had already gotten used to getting treated as the youngest of the group; the hyungs would share food with him, add a few more spoonful of rice into his bowl as he rewarded them all with a bright smile that made his lips curl around the edges. In return, Chansung played his role as the carefree maknae dutifully, always doing his best, his everything, to keep the mood up. He never mentioned the guys that didn’t come back from mission even if the hyungs sometimes found him staring at the front-gate like he was using pure will power to make those heavy metal doors slide open and reveal dirtied, shaken up soldiers he called his brothers. Junho was always there though, standing a few feet away, his eyes on Chansung's back. And maybe they both knew then. Both being trained to fight, destroy, kill, and survive, there was no way Chansung didn’t register the sound of Junho's footsteps or his even breathing with a hint of sorrow and restraint tugging; they were in love, hopelessly, like a pair of teenagers on the verge of finding out what life’s really about.
-
Junho felt tired on most days. What once used to be their base filled with laughter and pranks pulled on each other, had now become eerily silent. Transfer after transfer, he found himself left behind with Chansung as the two youngest of their group. They both had reached the point of not wanting to build new friendships long ago; it was too cruel to watch your friends leave and never come back. Junho knew there was the possibility that the hyungs weren’t dead: maybe they got transferred to another base or maybe they were still fighting, but that was an option he didn’t even want to think about let along hope for. Soon it’d be him and Chansung packing up their stuff and getting ready to open fire at the enemy. It was hard to imagine Chansung going so far as to taking lives but then again, that’s what he’s trained for and Junho'd seen the boy in practice when his eyes turned dark, almost black as coal.
The political milieu in South Korea was disorganized. The government kept blaming North Korea for recruiting Black Dragons using the fact that the troop had crossed over MDL. This accusation only added fuel to the fire, causing both parties to cut all ties and treaties ensuring peace between nations. Chansung and Junho were sent on a mission, and just like many other men, or boys rather, who left before the two, nobody expected them to come back.
Sacrifices need to be made for a greater cause, they say
It wasn’t supposed to be like this; Chansung and Junho were supposed to die. Their destiny was to fall down fighting, taking your last breath as the gun in your hand fired toward the enemy, the act of indignity that is running away was never part of anything planned. Chansung felt sick to the stomach as the shame washed over him, the firearms weighing heavy on his shoulders as he glanced over at Junho.
“Will you regret this?” He asked in a low voice, not because the enemy might hear them but because his chest tightened uncomfortably as he waited for Junho's reply.
“I don’t know,” Junho's eyes met his as their moving halted. At least he’s being honest, Chansung thought, and tried to force a weak smile that came out rather crooked and not that credible.
Your eyes were so bright,
Couldn’t they see it?
How could they take away something so
precious?
Chansung's smile was washed away quickly as he turned to his right, spotting movement behind dense bushes.
“We’re being ambushed.”
Junho didn’t hesitate because they’d done it many times before. He bent down and moved to the left, thankful once again for his flexibility that allowed him to move effortlessly, almost gracefully, as he located a small group of Black Dragons. He set his rifle on the ground and positioned himself, finger on the trigger and eyes hard. He looked up to see Chansung signing him to shoot before switching on his sniper mode. The rifle supported on the ground is his power as Junho plays a superhero for a short while, bullets landing perfectly between the men’s eyes as they fall back.
They had done it way too many times for mistakes to take place yet one glance over at Chansung, and Junho knew something was wrong. The smoke burned his eyes as he struggled to see a few feet ahead. Chansung was trained for close combat fights not distance, which is why they worked together so seamlessly; Junho would shoot down enemies from afar with his sharp eyes and quick movement, while Chansung readied the grenades. The setup wasn’t perfect but it worked, until now.
“Get down!” Junho screamed, reaching for his grenade launcher and attaching it to the rifle. He still couldn’t see the other but only hoped Chansung heard him over the gunshots that echoed in the forest.
There was a possibility that a few of BDs were still lurking behind bushes, alive, but Junho was done with being rational as he still couldn’t hear a response of any sort coming from Chansung’s side after a minute of launching grenades and successfully killing off at least most if not all of their enemies. Ties came with a great cost, and losing Chansung would cost him his everything, Junho knew that much.
“Chansung!” He screamed, hands flailing to keep the smoke away.
“Chansung! Goddammit answer me, or I swear I’ll shoot you myself!” A weak laugh came along a dry cough a little to his right as Junho struggled to stay up, his knees suddenly growing weak with fear for the worst.
“Chansung?” Junho could make out the soft lines of the other soldier lying on the ground, his back pressed up against a large tree trunk with his eyes closed.
“You’re not getting rid of me just yet, Junho-ah,” Chansung’s voice was barely there as he hissed in pain after another cough.
“Stop talking. You’re hurt, you idiot.” Junho bit down on his lip to keep from panicking at the sight of deep red mixed with dirt running down Chansung’s left arm. They had to be quick in case another group of BDs had heard the shooting and would be on their way there. Junho ripped the sleeve of his shirt, and tied the fabric tightly around the wound, ignoring Chansung’s grunts that tugged on his heart just a little bit (yet enough to hurt).
“Come on, we have to move fast.” He said, hand brushing Chansung’s hair away from his face. Junho’s calloused fingertips could still feel the softness of the jet-black strands stuck to the forehead, dirty with soil, before he found it in himself to pull Chansung up as they moved like shadows they’d become in time.
I never said “I love you”
Years later, he will go back and look at his past as something that never happened. It’s easier to deny the war’s existence, the government’s betrayal, the blood spill-and Chansung. The man, whose mere existence had kept him alive, was like a gentle pure spring breeze, sweeping across his heart, making it swell impossibly. Junho makes songs about Chansung because the man can only exist in lyrics and melody. Meaningless scribbles come to life as Chansung’s face appears on the sheet smilingsmilingsmiling. He's able to breathe again, for a little while.
One for all, and all for one
But don’t they know,
Nothing will ever compare to you