[FIC] Midnight
Title: Midnight
Summary: Junsu's life was perfect; Yoochun's was in shambles. One day when Yoochun leaves to start over, Junsu can do nothing but follow and chase those long-forgotten dreams.
Pairing: Yoosu
Rating: R
Genre: Angst/Drama
Warning: violence, child abuse, self-harm, underage smoking, implied involvement with mafia
Disclaimer: No ownership over Junsu or Yoochun.
1. It was midnight when an urgent rap on his windows broke through the quiet of night and alerted Junsu’s sharp senses, sending him standing abruptly up and nearly falling over the chair from his haste. He was directed to the sound of knuckles on glass and briefly checked to make sure there were no small cracks forming on the smooth surface from the sheer brute force inflicted, before setting his gaze from a very surprised but not wholly unwelcomed silhouette of a familiar figure balancing precariously on a thin branch leading to his second floor bedroom. Hurriedly he flung open the windows to let the teen in before the tree limb snapped and sent the other painfully smashing onto the ground, and the other jumped lithely in and landed squarely on his feet, brushing dust off his shirt, which Junsu noted was torn at the sleeve. It was only several hours earlier when he saw him, though.
All confusion over the shirt and the delicate question of why his best friend had shown up at his house in the middle of the night was immediately erased as he took in Yoochun’s less-than-optimal state. Shoulder-length hair tangled wildly, pants torn - and it was certainly not from the tree bark from the lack of wood splinters - at the hem, the slightest hint of a swollen upper lip with a dark stain not completely washed off, odd trails down his grimy face and the tell-tale, red and watery eyes that lacked its usual bright spirit and energy, the tired and defeated aura he emitted, all of it patched a rough tale of something the younger was not aware of, perhaps something he didn’t want to know.
Frankly, it scared Junsu terribly. He had never seen Yoochun in such way, so defeated and tired as he climbed awkwardly onto the carpeted floor from the ledge and lay down, shooting a bright smile towards the younger despite his grievous state. The grin was so fake, so forced it made Junsu uncomfortable, his heart thudding painfully at how pathetic and miserable the older looked.
Yoochun was supposed to be strong, independent, happy, sociable, humorous, the exact opposite of what was presented in front of him this moment. But he pretended not to notice; pride was more important to Yoochun, and he greeted the other casually, acting as if everything was alright, as if it was normal for him to appear randomly at midnight in Junsu’s house.
“Anything you want to do?” Junsu gestured to his cluttered desk, littered with various entertainment devices the two often frequented when together. “And as you know, the bathroom is right over there. Just… if you need it. I’ve still got some of your clothes from last time, and that blue towel belongs to you anyways.”
The tough façade melted away for an instant, and Yoochun looked at Junsu gratefully as he discreetly rubbed his eyes, welling with clear liquid once more as he muttered a hoarse “Thanks” to the other and stood up, making way to the bathroom.
Moments later, the sound of spraying water graced Junsu’s ears, giving him plenty of time to brainstorm what happened to his best friend as he took a much-needed shower. It went without asking that Yoochun would be staying for the night, and he prayed his mother would not scream upon finding an extra body slumbering away in the bed the next morning. Just in case, he set an alarm earlier than he would wake up to send Yoochun away; the other needed to fetch his school supplies anyways.
After dispelling several theories, each more ridiculous than the next, he settled on the fact that when Yoochun was willing to tell him, he would, and for now he’d have to trust and respect his best friend to sort out his inner demons, while he would become the safety net until he was no longer needed.
(But it was hard to sit and wait.)
2. That night was never openly talked about, and neither was too willing to breach the topic. Junsu simply gave the other space and privacy, all the while hoping that Yoochun would eventually confide to him about what happened that night. There had to be some way he could help with whatever Yoochun was dealing with; it pained him deeply for his best friend to suffer in silence and frustrated him to no end as Yoochun slowly wasted away right before his eyes, and he was helpless, so helpless. Patience, he reiterated over and over again, patience. Eventually, Yoochun would open up.
But when eventually came around, would it be too late?
The cancerous thought was firmly planted in his brain, and as hard as he tried it stayed, a seed of panic blooming in him along with the thought, and together they flourished in his steadily more worried mind as Yoochun blanked out for the umpteenth time in class and focused his glassy gaze onto the board, seeing but not truly understanding. He was even more out of it than usual.
Junsu chewed fiercely on his nails and gave up taking any proper notes, resorting to staring at sparrows circle and fly in mating pairs around the small greenery clump outside the impeccably clean windows.
(Sometimes he couldn’t remember simplicity when life was so convoluted.)
3. “Has there ever being a person where you want badly to give a second chance, but you find it very hard to?”
The odd and abrupt question snapped Junsu out of his gaming reverie as he paused in the middle of a particularly nerve-wracking and violent battle, looking up and tilting his head in confusion. “Come again?” he asked, unsure if he heard correctly. These occurrences of the strangest questions were becoming a frequent thing, for the better or worse he couldn’t tell.
The older sighed wearily and reclined onto the soft but damp grass, drifting his eyes shut under the comfortable shade and said nothing, letting the silence sink in as Junsu continued to observe him curiously, still not understanding the other.
“… Perhaps,” the younger said eventually and submerged back into his gaming session, turning the sound on the device noisily as clashing swords and guttural war cries filled the peaceful park. But his fingers lacked the usual fierce vigor as he tapped the buttons repeatedly in a repetitive rhythm, eyes not completely focused on the screen as they darted nervously every now and then to the napping man beside him before he gave up and shut it off, reverting to quietly observing the other with a contemplative expression.
The world slowed and lapsed into comfortable serenity, the sun’s rays warming their skin as light breeze rustled through the newly budded leaves, one floating gently down and landing gracefully on Yoochun’s chest while he dozed peacefully away, accompanied by Junsu’s quiet humming, a long lost melody of childish innocence and the begotten days of the past mixed with the barest hint of bitterness and sorrow, the underlying desire of locking the fairytale-esque beauty of childhood within.
It drifted through the tranquility and was lost, as the leaf was carried away once more by the wind’s tender arms and into the blue sky.
(Yet was etched permanently in Junsu’s heart.)
4. “Where do you want to go when we graduate?”
The same picturesque meadow, the same relaxed and lazy atmosphere, the same two figures resting languidly against the same birch tree with its branches spread wide over their heads, fresh green leaves weaving intricately together into a natural canopy above their heads as warm rays filtered through and projected translucent shades of yellows and greens onto their bodies. An abundant of flora and fauna bloomed feverishly in the tender care of spring, double the amount found the last time they came, light perfume of the flowers wafting in the air and enough pollen to make one sneeze uncontrollably.
Yoochun lazily drew circles absentmindedly above his head and said, “Anywhere that’s not here.”
The younger expected the vague answer. His best friend often rambled on about many faraway places in the world, famous cities that flourished with tourism and unique, breathtaking culture that he badly wanted to experience personally and get in touch with, maybe live in each place for a year or two and then move on to the next, never staying in a location too long before he set down firm roots. If he spent too much time, he’ll get attached and eventually never want to continue to see the world with his own eyes. He wouldn’t allow himself to be strapped down by too many cables of attachment. That was why when he left for college - he didn’t know where yet; none of them did - he’ll break off with everyone, cast off his old shell of living and growing up in the same city for his entire life, change his identity and number, stop contact, and be born anew. A clean break.
Frankly, Junsu hoped fervently that such thing wouldn’t happen. His friend was too precious to him, accompanying him since they were babies barely out of diapers, and to have a huge chunk of his life to dissipate was unthinkable. It went without saying that Yoochun would leave him behind, as he belonged to the old lifestyle that the other no longer desired; hated, even. And honestly, he never thought of moving away to a different place. In fact, his dream was to live his life out in the same surroundings he grew up with, find a nice girl, get married, start a small family, and be settled down comfortably and live out the rest of his life in the same familiar setting he loved so dearly.
An ominous thought lurked.
This friendship would not last. It was game over the moment their college acceptance letters came through in the following months, the deciding moment of where they’ll spend the next four years of their lives in, and there was not an ounce of doubt in his mind that Yoochun would choose the campus furthest away from their home for nearly their entire lives, and he would probably pick the small university nearby so he could come home every weekend even if they had applied to the same schools with childish naivety in hopes that they could go to college together. The possibility was as far-fetched as humans growing angel wings and flying.
“… I wish you could stay…” he confessed for the first time. Junsu wasn’t one to speak of his selfish desires, so as the words escaped from his lips he surprised himself.
Apparently Yoochun was startled too as his hand dropped limply down to his side and he pushed himself into a sitting position, observing Junsu intently with a strong gaze that made him shift uneasily. “… I know,” he eventually said, habitually chewing on his lip. “… You can always come with me.”
“…” He didn’t reply, but the other had long acknowledged his answer a long time ago.
With words left unsaid, they silently watched as two doves flew in a twining circle and soared away into opposite directions as they reached the high blue skies.
Would it be too naïve to wish that moments like these could stretch out and last forever? The last golden times in their gradually dying friendship that would be rendered nothing but a distant memory…
Yoochun reached for a pencil and began sketching.
(Junsu knew he’ll miss the familiar scratching of graphite on rough paper.)
5. It was no longer a rare sight to Junsu to Yoochun sporting long sleeves; he had no reason to worry about the odd change, honestly, as the weather had shifted unexpectedly colder, a late frost that caused agriculture to suffer an unseen blow as new buds struggled to survive the unaccustomed harsh conditions of faux winter. Maybe he had watched one too many dramatic, cheesy TV shows with his mother these days for him to sprout illogical thinking. Worry did that to a person.
In one of their random, pointless conversations the older teen had casually mentioned being afraid of sharp objects, especially needles. Sometimes even knives were able to send him taking a subconscious step back, a brief moment of panic flickering in his eyes before he pushed down the fear and composed himself, as if the split second of alarm had never happened. Only the more perceptive people, the ones who knew Yoochun through and through would notice the fleeting miniscule change in his demeanor.
Therefore the conclusion: Yoochun would not voluntarily touch any sharp objects unless he had to, and scissors were the only exception to his stiff rule. Junsu was most likely overreacting and piecing together nonexistent, discrete clues and forming a messy, insubstantial conclusion, but he could almost swear he had seen the other nervously adjust his long sleeves every now and then, sometimes hands lingering longer on his forearms than a person typically would, or was the habit ingrained in him a long time ago but never caught his attention? The other never pushed up his sleeves anymore… or was it because the weather was too chilly?
Growing worry nagged persistently in his mind, adding onto the almost undetectable injuries the older teen sported every now and then. The barest hint of a bruise, a small scab dotted here and there, the slightest red swelling of irritated flesh, and the almost constantly tired and haunted eyes with barely concealed bags. Yoochun took him as a fool to not see all the physical and emotional scars progressively building, and questioning words bubbled to the tip of his tongue but never quite spilled forth in fear of the other shrinking away from his concerns and accusations, a more negative impact than anything.
After the school bell rang, the entire class rushed out of the room to embrace the stress-less weekend, all with the exception of Yoochun and Junsu, the former still immersed in packing his backpack meticulously neatly, in obsessive-compulsive-disorder fashion while Junsu tapped a feet impatiently as he half-leaned, half-sat on the neighboring desk and watched him with thoroughly bored eyes.
It was at this moment when a loose black thread of Yoochun’s sleeve fringe mysteriously wound itself around the edge of the desk metal, tugging the sleeve downwards as he reached forward for a book. His eyes widened in undiluted horror.
Time slowed.
Even if it was a short-lived glimpse at his best friend’s pale and thin arms, the image deeply burned into Junsu’s mind, and he was in no hurry to erase them. They only added to his chaotic clump of evidence as something solidly horrifying, and his feet slipped, sending him nearly tripping over nothing but slippery marble floor.
Silvery, thin scars littered across the pale flesh and crisscrossed like a simplified spider web, almost indistinguishable under the dim lighting, but it was enough.
Their eyes met, one pair fearful, one pair shocked.
“You…” he trailed off in a horrified whisper, the message of words unsaid loud and clear in the tense atmosphere.
“Don’t tell anyone.” A threatening phrase, but underlay a heavy current of pleading and desperation.
Junsu smiled reassuringly - at least, he tried but it was more of a cringe - and squeezed tightly Yoochun’s hand, thinner, bonier, and more fragile and breakable than the familiar feel imprinted for years in his memory, sending another worried and painful straight to his heart. Pulling the thin black sweater back down over the other’s wrist, he pasted on a brighter, faker smile. “Let’s go!”
He could barely choke back the sob forming irritatingly in his sore throat, eyes stinging and watering, a single tear sliding down his cheek that he wiped hurriedly away before anyone could see; he tried and failed to convince himself that it was the strong wind’s fault as the fierce desire to understand what drove his friend to these extreme, abusive methods grew rapidly.
(And once again he was helpless.)
6. It was just purely by chance that Junsu’s front bike tire decided to deflate and die on him half a mile before he reached home. It screeched to a halt and the force nearly sent him toppling off the bike, caught off guard and too immersed in his thoughts to realize it was getting progressively harder to pedal forwards. While nimble fingers swiftly collapsed his bike into a more carrying-friendly size, he noticed a new, obnoxiously neon flyer glued to the telephone pole, and positively across the whole street. “HIRING NEW STARS!” it blared in highlighter yellow with an equally obnoxious, funky and rather illegible font. Picking up his bike, he was about to walk away, thinking it was the very typical silly posters glued by a hopeful and extremely rare band kid in the only high school the entire town had, until he got past all the distracting colors and words onto the actual substance.
“We are looking for young, aspiring singers, dancers, and models who would want to be the next big idol! Previously successfully produced groups are H.O.T., Shinhwa, and S.E.S. Open admission for all willing teens from ages 12 - 19.” There was a long list of audition times and locations for them, but what drew his attention was the fact that this was the exact same company that produced H.O.T.! The legendary H.O.T. responsible for all the current biggest hits, and Junsu himself was very obsessed with the group.
But as much as the offer sounded horribly tempting, it was too unrealistic. How many people would even pass the auditions? How many people would even get past the training - rumors were abound that it was like entering a contract with Satan himself because of the grueling training period - and debut? He enjoyed his comfortable and predictable life in his own town. God knows how many of the town folk would be scandalized when they heard the Kim family’s troublesome younger twin ran off to chase the laughable dream of being a pop star. He cringed at the mere thought, already filled with images of the gossipy old women with disapproving frowns and the I-told-you-so looks, their distaste for him growing even more than before.
Envisioning himself as an idol was tempting though, a fleeting dream of the past until his realistic side kicked in and he shook his head vigorously, hauling his bike over his shoulder and walked away from the street of neon flyers to his home.
Idol? What a joke.
(But not to him.)
7. One sunny day at school, Junsu skipped excitedly to the homeroom class, bursting to tell his best friend of a new soccer game he had unwittingly discovered last night, only to have his heart skip a beat instead when the usual figure at their two desks was missing. Troubled, he slid to the left seat, the one Yoochun always occupied beside him and drummed his fingers anxiously, eyes sweeping the classroom and out the windows for any sign of the older. It was possible that the other had gone to the bathroom, left to his locker, or was just late. Even when the bell rang, he did not show up, and Junsu’s stomach dropped as the teacher called out his best friend’s name, only to hear a resounding echo and no word of “Here!” from the sleek, deep voice Junsu was so used to hearing.
He never missed a day of school.
What happened?
Volunteering to record and bring homework to Yoochun was the perfect excuse to visit him, however unwanted his unexpected turning up would be. Even the strictest parents would not deny their own child to catch up on school work, would they? No, the bigger problem lay with whether or not it was because the other teen was sick, or had something happened in the household that remained ever mysterious, an invisible line drawn that Junsu couldn’t trespass due to the other’s clear reluctance and dislike, and his suspicions that were becoming more and more substantial as time passed.
He was the first one to spring out his seat when the final bell rang, hurriedly shoving the chair haphazardly back to the desk and practically flew out of the classroom in his haste to leave before the teacher had even properly dismissed them. The bike nearly toppled over as he clumsily pushed off the ground before he swung his other leg over the seat, and he set off to the ironically unfamiliar path to Yoochun’s house, reaching there with a screeching halt and dropped the bicycle carelessly onto the pavement.
Cautiously he tip-toed to the door, wincing when the piercing noise of glass shattering sounded through the door, followed quickly by an enraged, high-pitched scream and a deep roar of response. His dark eyes widened; were they Yoochun’s parents? Almost comically double-checking the address, he became certain that it had to be. Fierce, repressed curiosity blossomed again in his mind as he sidled quietly to a window left slightly ajar and peered hesitantly inside out of the corner of the eye, making sure he was firmly concealed in one of the bushes.
It was a mess.
Two human tornado ripped through, shattering and vandalizing all the objects the house had hold, leaving bits and pieces of a broken household and family behind in their wake in a fierce physical and verbal battle that had Junsu’s ears ringing uncomfortably from the banshee shrieks and blur of figures. Another ceramic plate shattered to near dust upon impact and was kicked carelessly away as the woman made a mad grab towards a small fruit knife that laid abandoned by its owners, only to be dragged back by her disheveled brunette hair.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man screamed hoarsely, dark bloodshot eyes widened in fury.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” she screeched back and aimed a kick to his groin.
Junsu tore his eyes away from the wreckage and catfight, horrified by the violence. This was why.
Why Yoochun never talked about his home - No, that wasn’t his home. That was simply a house he was obligated to return on a daily basis - why he was always so reluctant to go, why he had been saying such cryptic things, why he would never go back to this town and all of its traumatic memories, why he showed up with unexplained injuries, why he self-harmed, everything now made sense, the final puzzle clicking into place and illuminating the entire picture.
He must have been blind to not have realized this sooner. It was so painfully obvious, and this entire time his best friend suffered while pretending everything was alright.
How much of the smiles had been a forced, safe mask to tuck away the mess of his life that he could not salvage?
It took Junsu many long moments to finally realize that Yoochun was not in the chaotic scene, and he quickly began to panic, peeking daringly into the window for any sign of the older boy and saw no lithe figure among the pigsty, worry growing in him every second he took to search. He dropped down again as a stray teacup soared through the air and right through the crack of the window, landing with a heavy thump onto the dead grass. Crawling stealthily on all fours, he inched away from the living room towards other rooms; surely Yoochun was hiding out in one of them?
The way he was painstakingly peeking through every single window whilst crawling on the mud and dead grass was strangely reminiscent of those cheesy spy movies he’d watch with Yoochun every now and then when they were in the mood, and upon that thought he immediately chided himself for imagining something so silly in the midst of a legitimate serious event. Accidentally grazing his hand against a protruding twig, he grimaced as crimson liquid pooled out of the tiny cut. It stung - but certainly not as much as the pain Yoochun suffered in for so many years.
As his fingers clutched onto the wooden ledge, he heard a rather loud snap and looked at it alarmed, finding a long crack running down the decaying wood that most definitely did not exist a few seconds ago. He gulped guiltily, and then fell onto his butt and nearly screamed with a blurred figure popped up right by the windows noiselessly and almost instantaneously, almost ghost-like. Except with closer inspection, the “ghost” wearing all black was very much alive, though the pale flesh was not much indication, nor were the dead looking eyes and the barely detective breathing indicated by the slightest raise of an unhealthily skinny chest, and Junsu cringed in shame again as all these tiny but significant details had slipped through in lieu of a few other much more unimportant events.
The dead black eyes sparked back to life in recognition of the ungraceful sprawled figure lying on the dry dirt, and the figure backed away from the window as if the ledges was acidic, burning angry red into his two lacerated palms. “J-Junsu,” he stuttered, pale pink lips trembling. “What are you…” Yoochun never quite got the chance to finish the sentence as another ear-splitting crash of ceramic graced his ears, and terrified, his head swung back sharply in the direction of the sound, tongue peaking out nervously to lick his chapped lips as he stared long and hard at the door bolted shut.
With that perfect opportunity, the younger of the two leaped onto his feet and scrambled onto the ledge as it creaked ominously again under his overbearing weight, and clumsily he flipped over into Yoochun’s unfurnished and eerily clean room. There was a severe lack of any personality, gray walls and simple wooden floors, only the bare necessities of furniture dotting the sides of the walls. A closet with a small heap of old clothes Junsu always saw Yoochun wearing, a perfectly made bed with less-than-adequate thin sheets and no pillow, a cabinet, and the room was void of anything else.
The sight chilled Junsu to the bone by its homeliness and plainness. His room was on the opposite of the spectrum, splashed with haphazard, clashing colors, a dozen peeling posters covering the walls, some glossy and new, others old and peeling away, with a large and fluffy bed with sheets he often kicked away because of how stifling they were in the hot and humid summer days, and personal belongings scattered messily everywhere unless his mother forced him to clean up the room.
Tugging on Yoochun’s wrist - which was much too bony and thin for Junsu’s liking - he said urgently, “Let’s go.” Taking no heed of any protests and spluttering of unformed and incoherent words spewing awkwardly out of the other’s mouth, he dragged him bodily over. The older’s body was feather light, with hardly any resistance or difficulty, further disturbing the older. With a far more elegant leap out the low windows and the older trailing uncertainly after him, he lifted his bike from its abandoned position on the ground and habitually swung a leg over, his free hand patting the back invitingly. “Hurry!”
The older boy licked his lips nervously again, eyes darting towards the dilapidated house as the fierce argument continued with no hint of stopping anytime soon, and with another pressing word from the younger, he crawled onto the backseat, an arm wrapping tentatively around Junsu’s waist while the other hung free, slender fingers gripping the makeshift seat tightly. It was ironic how the roles had reversed this time.
And Junsu took off at a breakneck speed, even if it was less impressive than a motorbike, but nonetheless he wanted out of this miserable house and this miserable community where he felt questioning eyes prickling at the back of his neck, the curious neighbors watching as one boy stole away the other boy of a dysfunctional family on a bike and rode away. This made Junsu grit his teeth angrily. Why couldn’t any of the neighbors call Child Welfare? But on the other hand Yoochun would be taken away to a whole different place, a foster home and stuffed away with all the other pitiable misfits of society, leading an even more wretched life. Junsu would never be able to see the other teen again, and he could not even fathom the idea of never seeing his best friend who had melded into his life. Cutting Yoochun out would be cutting his heart out, and who knew how long that hole could be replaced, if ever?
In his long musings he dimly noticed the arm tightening around him, soon joined by another. The weight was oddly comforting as they rode past various neighborhoods, each better than the previous until he finally came to a slow halt in front of Junsu’s home of pale walls and black tiled roof, much brighter and cheerier than the desolation Yoochun resided in. Vaguely he was aware that his breathing had accelerated, and his heart was thudding loudly and rapidly in his chest as he drank in the familiar and reassuring scene of his home, and finally it hit him how eager and desperate he was to get away from Yoochun’s house.
The grip on his body relaxed and slipped away as he parked the bike properly, gripping Yoochun’s arm firmly and directing him towards the front door, afraid the other might want to make a run for it; he didn’t know why, but somehow it had gotten into him that the other might suddenly vanish with the winds to a distant place Junsu could not reach.
“Welcome ba-” the soft timbre of Junsu’s mother’s voice stopped abruptly as she caught sight of Yoochun’s lightly wounded body, eyes widened unashamedly as she eyed the two teens sharply.
Yoochun’s face flushed, shaking down his long sleeves so they covered well past his finger tips, a hand self-consciously brushing the bangs of his dark hair to hide his face, and the progressively darkening bruise on his cheek bone, sidling subconsciously behind Junsu’s form so the piercing stare could not reach them.
“Chun got into a fight,” Junsu lied lamely, unable to come up with any other excuses. Saying he fell off the stairs or got into a mild accident was too far-fetched. The wounds were placed too well, clear injuries that accidents did not cause.
But even this lie did not seem to trick his mother as she continued to survey them with an X-ray stare, looking right into their eyes and their minds and mentally taking in the situation calmly before finally saying, “Yoochun dear, come with me. You need to get those wounds cleaned up before they get infected.”
“It’s okay,” the other replied quietly. “It’s nothing big.”
But Junsu’s mother was unyielding in her decision and before long Yoochun found himself nearing the bathroom door, but not before he shot a pleading look to Junsu.
The other turned away.
(When did a barrier form between them?)
8. It wasn’t very rare for Junsu to see Yoochun cry like a leaking faucet. In fact, it was quite a common occurrence whenever the other watched a touching movie or read a book, he would end up curled up somewhere and sob his heart out, a box of tissues in hand as he blew his nose loudly into the soft material before balling it up and replacing with another. It was just one of the many attributes that sometimes made Junsu wonder if his best friend was secretly a girl in disguise because of all his feminine characteristics that popped out often.
But this time was different.
He had never seen Yoochun cry over things unrelated to heartstring tugging stories, and that bothered him. The other had always come across to him as a strong individual when it came to personal issues like such, which was why Junsu never hesitated to confide certain personal troubles he would be dealing with, confident the other would offer priceless advice on the situation. More than once had the makeshift sessions become great help to him.
Yet now, seeing Yoochun truly break down and cry, tears streaming nonstop down his face, eyes squeezed shut, and a hand clamped over his mouth in attempt to muffle his hiccups and sobbing as his frame shook violently, and his repeated fail attempts to attempt to stop, but every time his mouth opened to say “I’m sorry,” another sob racked through him, Junsu was truly dumbfounded as he sat helplessly next to Yoochun, letting the older cry it all out. It’ll make him feel better, he rationalized, and he wrapped his arms around Yoochun tightly. The other always craved physical affection and touch, and so that was what he did as he murmured reassurance to the other’s ears, and he eventually relaxed into Junsu’s embrace and buried his face in Junsu’s chest to silence the sobbing, but his body didn’t stop its violent trembles that repeatedly wracked his body.
Junsu rubbed his back soothingly and could only offer physical comfort and empty words that probably meant nothing, but were the only words that formed in his mind and out his mouth. He cursed his inability to express himself properly through words, when they were most needed. It was true that he couldn’t understand what his friend was possibly going through, not even close, but if he was a little more frank he would have admitted he was glad he did not understand this gut-wrenching pain, guiltily relieved that his family was dysfunctional but perfect.
Eventually Yoochun pulled away from Junsu’s now tear-soaked shirt that plastered uncomfortably onto his chest and averted his eyes. “I should leave,” he said, voice hoarse from crying. He pulled himself away from Junsu and stood unsteadily up, nearly tripping over his feet.
The other quickly caught him before he hit the ground. “Please stay,” Junsu begged, grip tightening on his thin wrists. He would not allow Yoochun to return to such a turbulent atmosphere, not until his parents calmed down, and not ever if life could go his way.
“Junsu, let me go.”
There weren’t any force behind his words. They were dead, lifeless, drained, empty, and Junsu’s heart clenched painfully again. “Please stay,” he said again, softer this time, more pleading. “I don’t want you to go back… back there.” The word ‘home’ choked him; he found that he was unable to utter the word. Home was safe, home was cozy, home was everything the chaos and pain of Yoochun’s family was not. He wrapped Yoochun in a tight hug, trying to ignore the sharp ribs poking into his chest, and the fact that the older was no longer taller than him, even though he had always been as long as he remembered. He should have been much taller than he was now. Uncontrollable tears welled into his eyes, and they spilled down his cheeks, dripping onto the ripped fabric of the other’s shirt as he clutched onto him more tightly. “Please don’t go…” His voice wavered, breaking.
And despite Yoochun’s best judgment, his resolve faltered and crumbled.
He stayed, through an awkward dinner with near palpable tension in the air emitted from Junsu’s mother and older twin, making him fidget uncomfortably in his seat as he forced himself not to eat like he had starved three days - which wasn’t terribly far from the truth - but Junsu’s mother kept piling food on his plate and urged him to eat more. He turned his eyes away every time, feeling the strong pity radiating from her. His hand tightened on the wooden chopsticks, a lump forming in his throat at the thought of how pathetic he had become, and longing for more of the motherly love he was given in Junsu’s household that he could only dream of from his own.
That night he crawled in bed with Junsu, pressing their bodies together much like they had done as children. He cuddled against the younger, legs and shoulders touching, his hand reaching out to grasp Junsu’s tightly and reveled in the heat and security he provided. Somehow like his personality, Junsu was the sun, casting happiness and warmth to anyone in the near proximity of him. And just for one night, Yoochun wanted to steal all of it selfishly and keep it to himself. The lull of sleep overtook him soon.
Junsu didn’t mind the close contact. He slung one arm protectively over Yoochun, as if afraid he’ll disappear like early morning mist and drew himself closer, burying his face in his shoulder and fell asleep very quickly, a deeper and sounder sleep than he had in a long time.
The next morning he woke up to emptiness and wrinkled sheets, not a single hair out of place, and no remaining body warmth. Alarmed, he searched the bathroom, the closet, and every bit of Park Yoochun’s belongings had simply vanished into thin air, gone with their owner as if Yoochun had never stepped into his house, had never being friends with him for all these years.
Junsu did not see him again for a long time.
(Yet he waited.)
9. To the ones waiting worriedly for another’s tentative return, time stretched from mere seconds to eternity, every minute that ticked by was another decade, every hour a century. Junsu had returned to Yoochun’s home once only to find it completely desolated, its furniture gathering dust from unused, and vacant. Even the mess he had witnessed the first time he came had completely disappeared. There was only a bone-chilling emptiness that hung around the house, and a very tattered For Sale sign nailed into the loose dirt and dead grass. Neighbors weren’t friendly in this part of the city, he quickly realized from the lack of response after knocking until his hands were sore and stinging. He never returned there again.
The situation scared him.
Yoochun and his family had completely disappeared.
Even after a week their teacher had finally gotten the hint and skipped over his name completely every day during roll call, as if Yoochun was no longer part of the class or school. No one talked about Yoochun’s absence. Maybe no one dared to. Or maybe no one cared. Unlike Junsu, who was a social butterfly and easily melted in with every group in the school without much effort, Yoochun had awkwardly stood out with his untidy clothes and long wavy hair pulled carelessly back into a pony tail, or sometimes it draped around his shoulders and defined his feminine features, the pouty pink lips, wide innocent eyes, and pale delicate skin. Yoochun always preferring to tote around notebooks filled with unfinished melodies and faded lyrics, hiding away in the safety of the tree shades out of sight and from people, a ways from the soccer field Junsu occupied. With a concentrated expression, he’d be furtively sketching Junsu playing soccer and hiding them, flustered, whenever Junsu approached him playfully and demanded what he was doing. Even now he didn’t think Yoochun was ever aware that Junsu knew exactly what he was doing, and was always in awe by how accurate his knowledge of the human anatomy was, and how realistic the sketches were. If he wasn’t to be a singer or composer, he should definitely become an artist or illustrator.
Every day, Junsu found himself taking studious notes, hoping Yoochun would miraculously return the next morning, with his usual cheery smile that formed cute dimples in his cheeks.
It was only two weeks later on a dreary day as he biked past the local hospital when he swerved sharply onto the sidewalk and carelessly parked it against the telephone pole, his eyes catching a familiar image emerging from the hospital. There was no mistaking the thin figure leaning against the wall, slender fingers reaching into jean pockets to pull out a box of cigarettes.
Yoochun looked like he crawled back from the dead. His hair was a tangled mess around his shoulders, his face pale as a ghost and eyes bloodshot, with heavy bags and dark circles. Clothes were dirty and unwashed, as if he hadn’t taken a shower in the past two weeks, which Junsu suspected wasn’t very far from the truth. But he was more bothered by the unhesitant and well-practiced way the other brought a cigarette to his lips and with a flick of the lighter, ignited the tip and took a long drag from it, blowing out a small cloud of smoke.
So he found himself stalking towards the older and snatching the cigarette out of his lips, tossing it onto the ground and snuffing the tip with his heel.
Yoochun looked up to him with bleary, glazed and confused eyes, mouth open into a puffy o shape. His hand was frozen in its position, the other still clutching tightly into the lighter and he blinked. Then the fog in his eyes cleared, and they widened. “J-Junsu!” he stammered, the lighter slipping away from his hand and onto the hard asphalt. The cheap plastic cracked, lighter fluid seeping steadily onto the pavement and out of the container.
Junsu swiftly pulled out the packet filled with more cigarettes, crushing them tightly in his fists and flung them into the trashcan. He stamped onto the broken lighter, hearing the satisfying crack as the plastic broke into pieces under his pressure. “What are you doing?” he asked, barely keeping his calm. “Why did you disappear for two fucking weeks with absolutely nothing? Not coming to school, house empty, everything gone, do you know how worried I was?” He barely registered that his hands were shaking violently.
“… I…” Yoochun did not reply. His eyes were filled with fear, and he was shivering, arms instinctively brought up to protect himself as if he was afraid… Afraid of what?
Then Junsu looked closer in Yoochun’s eyes and saw his own reflection in the dark orbs, a man whose boyish features were transformed into angered ones, eyes so cold and filled with fury about to erupt. Frightened by the image he saw, he backed up from the other.
“I’m sorry,” the long haired teen whispered, still in a defensive position, eyes darting on the ground where the broken lighter sat, the trashcan his precious cigarettes were thrown in, the curious stares of pedestrians, everywhere but Junsu. He jumped and nearly screamed in fear when he felt strong arms wrap around himself and squeezed tightly. But it was only Junsu. He relaxed almost immediately, sinking into the warm hug and closed his eyes, hearing barely controlled hiccups and the quiet drip-drop of tears onto his dirty shirt.
“I was so scared,” the younger sobbed into his shoulder. “You just disappeared. There was nothing left. I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you, if you died…” The words trailed off.
Gingerly Yoochun patted his back and return the hug. “I’m okay… don’t worry…” he murmured. Unlike him, it was rare for Junsu to ever cry. He could recall only two other instances, one being when he found out he had lost the singing auditions for a music company, his greatest passion, and the other being two weeks ago when the younger found out his parents were violent with each other and as a result, severely abusive to him. It shocked him to see Junsu break down in his arms again; he never considered he would be affected so greatly. In fact, he had assumed maybe if he erased his existence, maybe if there was a clean break eventually Junsu would forget completely about him and move on with his life. That was the ideal scenario, at least, but it backfired profoundly.
When Junsu finally calmed down, and he had led the two of them into a more secluded area away from the curious stares, Yoochun finally answered, “My mother was hospitalized.”
“What?” Junsu stared at him with wide eyes. “What happened?”
“She tried to commit suicide and nearly succeeded,” Yoochun said, too casually and plainly it gave chills down Junsu’s spine. “Then one of the neighbors called the cops and my father’s now locked up in jail for various charges of illegal gambling, human and drug trafficking, and a lot of things I didn’t even know he was doing. It’s a minimum sentence of thirty years, so I won’t be seeing him for a long time. My mom got locked up too. For child abuse and some other shit she was doing with my dad.” He kicked a loose pebble by the road, all in such a nonchalant manner Junsu was horrified.
A moment of silence.
“Why did you help her? Why didn’t you just leave her…” As soon as the words left Junsu’s mouth, he mentally slapped himself as Yoochun’s expression darkened. He couldn’t believe himself for bringing up such a moronic idea.
“I don’t know,” the other replied truthfully. He bit his lips. “She’s still my mother. I can’t just let my own mother die like that… it’s… too cruel… she still raised me after all. But you know what’s ironic?” There was a hint of emotion in the deadness, a spark of misery and desperation. “She said I shouldn’t have saved her. I should have let her die because the world’s ‘too fucked up and miserable to live’. Those were her exact words. And I’ve brought her nothing but bad luck ever since I was born. Hell, even before I was.” He was no longer observing his tattered sneakers and turned to Junsu, a bitter smile on his face, eyes filled with a swirl of dizzying turmoil and conflict. “What should I do, Junsu-ah? I have nothing now but this backpack and the clothes on my back. No home, no family, no money, absolutely nothing.”
It was a long time before Junsu spoke. “You fool… you stupid, heartless, idiotic, selfish fool. What about me? Did you forget about me?”
Yoochun shook his head. “You can’t get involved with me. Not anymore. With my father locked away, it’s only a matter of time before they hunt me down to finish what my father did.”
“Then change your name. My family will take you in. You know that they love you like their own son.”
“That’s not going to help. You know that.”
Junsu didn’t like this serious and cynical Yoochun one bit, not when the long-haired teen was almost always smiling and laughing himself silly at the lamest jokes Junsu liked to make, or anything he did. Yoochun found humor in every single thing especially if it had to do with the soccer player. But now he was expressionless and dead, the usually sparkling eyes too dull and desolate.
“Then what?!” Junsu screamed, finally losing his temper. Roughly he pulled Yoochun up by his collar - and tried to ignore how unnaturally light he was for an eighteen year old but he couldn’t - shoving him against the grimy wall. “Do you WANT to work for the mafia? Do you want to get your hands dirty with all the sick things they do?”
Yoochun smiled so bitterly and a hand slid into his pocket, pulling out a clean and spotless razor, wiggling it in front of Junsu’s face despite their close proximity, forcing the other to back up and let go. “Next time, I’ll just cut a little deeper. Then it’ll all be over.”
Junsu snatched it away, uncaring if it slid over his flesh and left thin cuts scattered over his palm and flung behind him, clattering onto the sidewalk and bounced into the dirt. “Stop it. Please. Just stop this.”
“Give me one good reason why.”
Because I’ll miss you. Because you’re my best friend. Because you’re an amazing person. Because you were always one of the strongest people I knew. Because you can make instruments sing. Because you have a beautiful voice. Because all the talent you have will be wasted. A million reasons raced through his thoughts that lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back; they sounded too selfish, too insignificant, as if a person can be measured by mere qualities and skills and quite frankly, Junsu was disgusted by his train of thought.
“Because…”
(Sometimes words were better left unsaid.)
10. Junsu wasn’t one for sappy goodbyes; in fact he considered himself as the ones to move on quickly and focus on the cheerful memories instead of lingering on bitter farewells. But this time, he hadn’t expected all the events to accumulate to such an end. Looking over the piece of paper over again, he frowned and wondered if it was really adequate as he ignored the guilt gnawing away at his heart. He set the pen down and taped the letter onto his desk with the barest hint of hesitation. His dark eyes raked carefully over his room. Everything was in place and properly cleaned, for the first time in too many years. It gave him chills.
The usually lively and cozy room now was bare of any personality or flair, bed made neatly, other furniture organized properly, and all writing and posters taken down from the walls and stowed carefully away in the corner of his closet. Only one item lay out of place, the backpack filled with his most important belongings, the bare necessities of clothing, toiletry, along with his computer and phone with their respective chargers all packed neatly away. He checked his wallet one more time, making sure there was a sufficient amount of money and his ID was still in place, and a credit card for extreme circumstances. But he knew it would probably remain untouched. A lump rose in his throat when he noticed a tiny picture tucked with the card, the picture of his family when he and Junho were still young and rambunctious children.
Junsu looked over his letter, just for one last time.
Mom, Dad, Junho.
I’m sorry but I can’t stay anymore. I just can’t I wish I could explain properly but I’m leaving, for good. I don’t mean to I’ll keep in tou Don’t look for me. But I’ll be in Maybe one day you’ll find me again. But I will be changing my name, so maybe not. It’s hard to explain. You’ll understand one day. I don’t know but I hope so. Please don’t hate me. I realized This life wasn’t what I wanted after all. Don’t worry though, Yoochun is with me. We’re in this together. And no, it’s not his fault please don’t think
This was hard for me too. But I love you guys so much. Thanks for putting up with me through these years.
I’m sorry. I really am.
Love,
Junsu
A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder, and he whirled around to face a frowning Yoochun. “I’m sorry,” the long-haired teen said softly. “You really don’t have to come with me.”
Junsu smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way - he wasn’t sure because he was too uncertain, more afraid of what was to come than he was willing to admit - and replied, “Don’t worry. Thanks to you I realized what I wanted after all. If I stayed here, my life will be repetitive. This will be all I know. Going to Seoul will be a good experience for the both of us.”
“But…” Yoochun’s eyes remained troubled as he chewed his bottom lip nervously out of habit.
“Hey, who knows? Maybe we’ll make it and become stars. Then there’s nothing to worry.” Being optimistic never felt so difficult and forced, and Junsu felt his smile falter and drop.
Yoochun suddenly stepped forward and embraced him tightly. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, and Junsu knew by the familiar pattern of the other’s breath hitching and his body shaking that Yoochun was crying again, teardrops falling onto his shirt and staining the fabric a darker shade. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
(But Junsu wasn’t and that was all that mattered.)
11. It was almost midnight when the old bus screeched to a loud halt at the edge of the town, its headlights illuminating the dark night and Junsu and Yoochun found themselves squinting at its sign to make sure that it was indeed heading to Seoul. Hand in hand, they clung on to the only familiarity of each other’s warmth, and carrying meager belongings they boarded the bus onto unknown territory; there was no turning back. Not anymore.
The clock struck midnight as the bus took off towards their ethereal and idealistic dreams and aspirations, away from their old lives and into the new.
(Perhaps fairy tales existed after all.)
(AN: I keep rewriting the ending… it just feels imperfect, but this is the best I can do. ;A; This entire thing is probably very raw but it’s pretty much my emotional output… also why it took me five months to finish. The inspiration and many things here come from personal experience and close friends, and many what-ifs. What if something else had happened instead of what had happened? Things I don’t want to think about. This fic has a semi-happy ending, and life hasn’t shown a wholly happy ending yet.
Anyhow though, hope you enjoyed it! Spread the Yoosu love! :3 And please leave a comment, it’ll make me motivated to write more.)
Summary: Junsu's life was perfect; Yoochun's was in shambles. One day when Yoochun leaves to start over, Junsu can do nothing but follow and chase those long-forgotten dreams.
Pairing: Yoosu
Rating: R
Genre: Angst/Drama
Warning: violence, child abuse, self-harm, underage smoking, implied involvement with mafia
Disclaimer: No ownership over Junsu or Yoochun.
1. It was midnight when an urgent rap on his windows broke through the quiet of night and alerted Junsu’s sharp senses, sending him standing abruptly up and nearly falling over the chair from his haste. He was directed to the sound of knuckles on glass and briefly checked to make sure there were no small cracks forming on the smooth surface from the sheer brute force inflicted, before setting his gaze from a very surprised but not wholly unwelcomed silhouette of a familiar figure balancing precariously on a thin branch leading to his second floor bedroom. Hurriedly he flung open the windows to let the teen in before the tree limb snapped and sent the other painfully smashing onto the ground, and the other jumped lithely in and landed squarely on his feet, brushing dust off his shirt, which Junsu noted was torn at the sleeve. It was only several hours earlier when he saw him, though.
All confusion over the shirt and the delicate question of why his best friend had shown up at his house in the middle of the night was immediately erased as he took in Yoochun’s less-than-optimal state. Shoulder-length hair tangled wildly, pants torn - and it was certainly not from the tree bark from the lack of wood splinters - at the hem, the slightest hint of a swollen upper lip with a dark stain not completely washed off, odd trails down his grimy face and the tell-tale, red and watery eyes that lacked its usual bright spirit and energy, the tired and defeated aura he emitted, all of it patched a rough tale of something the younger was not aware of, perhaps something he didn’t want to know.
Frankly, it scared Junsu terribly. He had never seen Yoochun in such way, so defeated and tired as he climbed awkwardly onto the carpeted floor from the ledge and lay down, shooting a bright smile towards the younger despite his grievous state. The grin was so fake, so forced it made Junsu uncomfortable, his heart thudding painfully at how pathetic and miserable the older looked.
Yoochun was supposed to be strong, independent, happy, sociable, humorous, the exact opposite of what was presented in front of him this moment. But he pretended not to notice; pride was more important to Yoochun, and he greeted the other casually, acting as if everything was alright, as if it was normal for him to appear randomly at midnight in Junsu’s house.
“Anything you want to do?” Junsu gestured to his cluttered desk, littered with various entertainment devices the two often frequented when together. “And as you know, the bathroom is right over there. Just… if you need it. I’ve still got some of your clothes from last time, and that blue towel belongs to you anyways.”
The tough façade melted away for an instant, and Yoochun looked at Junsu gratefully as he discreetly rubbed his eyes, welling with clear liquid once more as he muttered a hoarse “Thanks” to the other and stood up, making way to the bathroom.
Moments later, the sound of spraying water graced Junsu’s ears, giving him plenty of time to brainstorm what happened to his best friend as he took a much-needed shower. It went without asking that Yoochun would be staying for the night, and he prayed his mother would not scream upon finding an extra body slumbering away in the bed the next morning. Just in case, he set an alarm earlier than he would wake up to send Yoochun away; the other needed to fetch his school supplies anyways.
After dispelling several theories, each more ridiculous than the next, he settled on the fact that when Yoochun was willing to tell him, he would, and for now he’d have to trust and respect his best friend to sort out his inner demons, while he would become the safety net until he was no longer needed.
(But it was hard to sit and wait.)
2. That night was never openly talked about, and neither was too willing to breach the topic. Junsu simply gave the other space and privacy, all the while hoping that Yoochun would eventually confide to him about what happened that night. There had to be some way he could help with whatever Yoochun was dealing with; it pained him deeply for his best friend to suffer in silence and frustrated him to no end as Yoochun slowly wasted away right before his eyes, and he was helpless, so helpless. Patience, he reiterated over and over again, patience. Eventually, Yoochun would open up.
But when eventually came around, would it be too late?
The cancerous thought was firmly planted in his brain, and as hard as he tried it stayed, a seed of panic blooming in him along with the thought, and together they flourished in his steadily more worried mind as Yoochun blanked out for the umpteenth time in class and focused his glassy gaze onto the board, seeing but not truly understanding. He was even more out of it than usual.
Junsu chewed fiercely on his nails and gave up taking any proper notes, resorting to staring at sparrows circle and fly in mating pairs around the small greenery clump outside the impeccably clean windows.
(Sometimes he couldn’t remember simplicity when life was so convoluted.)
3. “Has there ever being a person where you want badly to give a second chance, but you find it very hard to?”
The odd and abrupt question snapped Junsu out of his gaming reverie as he paused in the middle of a particularly nerve-wracking and violent battle, looking up and tilting his head in confusion. “Come again?” he asked, unsure if he heard correctly. These occurrences of the strangest questions were becoming a frequent thing, for the better or worse he couldn’t tell.
The older sighed wearily and reclined onto the soft but damp grass, drifting his eyes shut under the comfortable shade and said nothing, letting the silence sink in as Junsu continued to observe him curiously, still not understanding the other.
“… Perhaps,” the younger said eventually and submerged back into his gaming session, turning the sound on the device noisily as clashing swords and guttural war cries filled the peaceful park. But his fingers lacked the usual fierce vigor as he tapped the buttons repeatedly in a repetitive rhythm, eyes not completely focused on the screen as they darted nervously every now and then to the napping man beside him before he gave up and shut it off, reverting to quietly observing the other with a contemplative expression.
The world slowed and lapsed into comfortable serenity, the sun’s rays warming their skin as light breeze rustled through the newly budded leaves, one floating gently down and landing gracefully on Yoochun’s chest while he dozed peacefully away, accompanied by Junsu’s quiet humming, a long lost melody of childish innocence and the begotten days of the past mixed with the barest hint of bitterness and sorrow, the underlying desire of locking the fairytale-esque beauty of childhood within.
It drifted through the tranquility and was lost, as the leaf was carried away once more by the wind’s tender arms and into the blue sky.
(Yet was etched permanently in Junsu’s heart.)
4. “Where do you want to go when we graduate?”
The same picturesque meadow, the same relaxed and lazy atmosphere, the same two figures resting languidly against the same birch tree with its branches spread wide over their heads, fresh green leaves weaving intricately together into a natural canopy above their heads as warm rays filtered through and projected translucent shades of yellows and greens onto their bodies. An abundant of flora and fauna bloomed feverishly in the tender care of spring, double the amount found the last time they came, light perfume of the flowers wafting in the air and enough pollen to make one sneeze uncontrollably.
Yoochun lazily drew circles absentmindedly above his head and said, “Anywhere that’s not here.”
The younger expected the vague answer. His best friend often rambled on about many faraway places in the world, famous cities that flourished with tourism and unique, breathtaking culture that he badly wanted to experience personally and get in touch with, maybe live in each place for a year or two and then move on to the next, never staying in a location too long before he set down firm roots. If he spent too much time, he’ll get attached and eventually never want to continue to see the world with his own eyes. He wouldn’t allow himself to be strapped down by too many cables of attachment. That was why when he left for college - he didn’t know where yet; none of them did - he’ll break off with everyone, cast off his old shell of living and growing up in the same city for his entire life, change his identity and number, stop contact, and be born anew. A clean break.
Frankly, Junsu hoped fervently that such thing wouldn’t happen. His friend was too precious to him, accompanying him since they were babies barely out of diapers, and to have a huge chunk of his life to dissipate was unthinkable. It went without saying that Yoochun would leave him behind, as he belonged to the old lifestyle that the other no longer desired; hated, even. And honestly, he never thought of moving away to a different place. In fact, his dream was to live his life out in the same surroundings he grew up with, find a nice girl, get married, start a small family, and be settled down comfortably and live out the rest of his life in the same familiar setting he loved so dearly.
An ominous thought lurked.
This friendship would not last. It was game over the moment their college acceptance letters came through in the following months, the deciding moment of where they’ll spend the next four years of their lives in, and there was not an ounce of doubt in his mind that Yoochun would choose the campus furthest away from their home for nearly their entire lives, and he would probably pick the small university nearby so he could come home every weekend even if they had applied to the same schools with childish naivety in hopes that they could go to college together. The possibility was as far-fetched as humans growing angel wings and flying.
“… I wish you could stay…” he confessed for the first time. Junsu wasn’t one to speak of his selfish desires, so as the words escaped from his lips he surprised himself.
Apparently Yoochun was startled too as his hand dropped limply down to his side and he pushed himself into a sitting position, observing Junsu intently with a strong gaze that made him shift uneasily. “… I know,” he eventually said, habitually chewing on his lip. “… You can always come with me.”
“…” He didn’t reply, but the other had long acknowledged his answer a long time ago.
With words left unsaid, they silently watched as two doves flew in a twining circle and soared away into opposite directions as they reached the high blue skies.
Would it be too naïve to wish that moments like these could stretch out and last forever? The last golden times in their gradually dying friendship that would be rendered nothing but a distant memory…
Yoochun reached for a pencil and began sketching.
(Junsu knew he’ll miss the familiar scratching of graphite on rough paper.)
5. It was no longer a rare sight to Junsu to Yoochun sporting long sleeves; he had no reason to worry about the odd change, honestly, as the weather had shifted unexpectedly colder, a late frost that caused agriculture to suffer an unseen blow as new buds struggled to survive the unaccustomed harsh conditions of faux winter. Maybe he had watched one too many dramatic, cheesy TV shows with his mother these days for him to sprout illogical thinking. Worry did that to a person.
In one of their random, pointless conversations the older teen had casually mentioned being afraid of sharp objects, especially needles. Sometimes even knives were able to send him taking a subconscious step back, a brief moment of panic flickering in his eyes before he pushed down the fear and composed himself, as if the split second of alarm had never happened. Only the more perceptive people, the ones who knew Yoochun through and through would notice the fleeting miniscule change in his demeanor.
Therefore the conclusion: Yoochun would not voluntarily touch any sharp objects unless he had to, and scissors were the only exception to his stiff rule. Junsu was most likely overreacting and piecing together nonexistent, discrete clues and forming a messy, insubstantial conclusion, but he could almost swear he had seen the other nervously adjust his long sleeves every now and then, sometimes hands lingering longer on his forearms than a person typically would, or was the habit ingrained in him a long time ago but never caught his attention? The other never pushed up his sleeves anymore… or was it because the weather was too chilly?
Growing worry nagged persistently in his mind, adding onto the almost undetectable injuries the older teen sported every now and then. The barest hint of a bruise, a small scab dotted here and there, the slightest red swelling of irritated flesh, and the almost constantly tired and haunted eyes with barely concealed bags. Yoochun took him as a fool to not see all the physical and emotional scars progressively building, and questioning words bubbled to the tip of his tongue but never quite spilled forth in fear of the other shrinking away from his concerns and accusations, a more negative impact than anything.
After the school bell rang, the entire class rushed out of the room to embrace the stress-less weekend, all with the exception of Yoochun and Junsu, the former still immersed in packing his backpack meticulously neatly, in obsessive-compulsive-disorder fashion while Junsu tapped a feet impatiently as he half-leaned, half-sat on the neighboring desk and watched him with thoroughly bored eyes.
It was at this moment when a loose black thread of Yoochun’s sleeve fringe mysteriously wound itself around the edge of the desk metal, tugging the sleeve downwards as he reached forward for a book. His eyes widened in undiluted horror.
Time slowed.
Even if it was a short-lived glimpse at his best friend’s pale and thin arms, the image deeply burned into Junsu’s mind, and he was in no hurry to erase them. They only added to his chaotic clump of evidence as something solidly horrifying, and his feet slipped, sending him nearly tripping over nothing but slippery marble floor.
Silvery, thin scars littered across the pale flesh and crisscrossed like a simplified spider web, almost indistinguishable under the dim lighting, but it was enough.
Their eyes met, one pair fearful, one pair shocked.
“You…” he trailed off in a horrified whisper, the message of words unsaid loud and clear in the tense atmosphere.
“Don’t tell anyone.” A threatening phrase, but underlay a heavy current of pleading and desperation.
Junsu smiled reassuringly - at least, he tried but it was more of a cringe - and squeezed tightly Yoochun’s hand, thinner, bonier, and more fragile and breakable than the familiar feel imprinted for years in his memory, sending another worried and painful straight to his heart. Pulling the thin black sweater back down over the other’s wrist, he pasted on a brighter, faker smile. “Let’s go!”
He could barely choke back the sob forming irritatingly in his sore throat, eyes stinging and watering, a single tear sliding down his cheek that he wiped hurriedly away before anyone could see; he tried and failed to convince himself that it was the strong wind’s fault as the fierce desire to understand what drove his friend to these extreme, abusive methods grew rapidly.
(And once again he was helpless.)
6. It was just purely by chance that Junsu’s front bike tire decided to deflate and die on him half a mile before he reached home. It screeched to a halt and the force nearly sent him toppling off the bike, caught off guard and too immersed in his thoughts to realize it was getting progressively harder to pedal forwards. While nimble fingers swiftly collapsed his bike into a more carrying-friendly size, he noticed a new, obnoxiously neon flyer glued to the telephone pole, and positively across the whole street. “HIRING NEW STARS!” it blared in highlighter yellow with an equally obnoxious, funky and rather illegible font. Picking up his bike, he was about to walk away, thinking it was the very typical silly posters glued by a hopeful and extremely rare band kid in the only high school the entire town had, until he got past all the distracting colors and words onto the actual substance.
“We are looking for young, aspiring singers, dancers, and models who would want to be the next big idol! Previously successfully produced groups are H.O.T., Shinhwa, and S.E.S. Open admission for all willing teens from ages 12 - 19.” There was a long list of audition times and locations for them, but what drew his attention was the fact that this was the exact same company that produced H.O.T.! The legendary H.O.T. responsible for all the current biggest hits, and Junsu himself was very obsessed with the group.
But as much as the offer sounded horribly tempting, it was too unrealistic. How many people would even pass the auditions? How many people would even get past the training - rumors were abound that it was like entering a contract with Satan himself because of the grueling training period - and debut? He enjoyed his comfortable and predictable life in his own town. God knows how many of the town folk would be scandalized when they heard the Kim family’s troublesome younger twin ran off to chase the laughable dream of being a pop star. He cringed at the mere thought, already filled with images of the gossipy old women with disapproving frowns and the I-told-you-so looks, their distaste for him growing even more than before.
Envisioning himself as an idol was tempting though, a fleeting dream of the past until his realistic side kicked in and he shook his head vigorously, hauling his bike over his shoulder and walked away from the street of neon flyers to his home.
Idol? What a joke.
(But not to him.)
7. One sunny day at school, Junsu skipped excitedly to the homeroom class, bursting to tell his best friend of a new soccer game he had unwittingly discovered last night, only to have his heart skip a beat instead when the usual figure at their two desks was missing. Troubled, he slid to the left seat, the one Yoochun always occupied beside him and drummed his fingers anxiously, eyes sweeping the classroom and out the windows for any sign of the older. It was possible that the other had gone to the bathroom, left to his locker, or was just late. Even when the bell rang, he did not show up, and Junsu’s stomach dropped as the teacher called out his best friend’s name, only to hear a resounding echo and no word of “Here!” from the sleek, deep voice Junsu was so used to hearing.
He never missed a day of school.
What happened?
Volunteering to record and bring homework to Yoochun was the perfect excuse to visit him, however unwanted his unexpected turning up would be. Even the strictest parents would not deny their own child to catch up on school work, would they? No, the bigger problem lay with whether or not it was because the other teen was sick, or had something happened in the household that remained ever mysterious, an invisible line drawn that Junsu couldn’t trespass due to the other’s clear reluctance and dislike, and his suspicions that were becoming more and more substantial as time passed.
He was the first one to spring out his seat when the final bell rang, hurriedly shoving the chair haphazardly back to the desk and practically flew out of the classroom in his haste to leave before the teacher had even properly dismissed them. The bike nearly toppled over as he clumsily pushed off the ground before he swung his other leg over the seat, and he set off to the ironically unfamiliar path to Yoochun’s house, reaching there with a screeching halt and dropped the bicycle carelessly onto the pavement.
Cautiously he tip-toed to the door, wincing when the piercing noise of glass shattering sounded through the door, followed quickly by an enraged, high-pitched scream and a deep roar of response. His dark eyes widened; were they Yoochun’s parents? Almost comically double-checking the address, he became certain that it had to be. Fierce, repressed curiosity blossomed again in his mind as he sidled quietly to a window left slightly ajar and peered hesitantly inside out of the corner of the eye, making sure he was firmly concealed in one of the bushes.
It was a mess.
Two human tornado ripped through, shattering and vandalizing all the objects the house had hold, leaving bits and pieces of a broken household and family behind in their wake in a fierce physical and verbal battle that had Junsu’s ears ringing uncomfortably from the banshee shrieks and blur of figures. Another ceramic plate shattered to near dust upon impact and was kicked carelessly away as the woman made a mad grab towards a small fruit knife that laid abandoned by its owners, only to be dragged back by her disheveled brunette hair.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man screamed hoarsely, dark bloodshot eyes widened in fury.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” she screeched back and aimed a kick to his groin.
Junsu tore his eyes away from the wreckage and catfight, horrified by the violence. This was why.
Why Yoochun never talked about his home - No, that wasn’t his home. That was simply a house he was obligated to return on a daily basis - why he was always so reluctant to go, why he had been saying such cryptic things, why he would never go back to this town and all of its traumatic memories, why he showed up with unexplained injuries, why he self-harmed, everything now made sense, the final puzzle clicking into place and illuminating the entire picture.
He must have been blind to not have realized this sooner. It was so painfully obvious, and this entire time his best friend suffered while pretending everything was alright.
How much of the smiles had been a forced, safe mask to tuck away the mess of his life that he could not salvage?
It took Junsu many long moments to finally realize that Yoochun was not in the chaotic scene, and he quickly began to panic, peeking daringly into the window for any sign of the older boy and saw no lithe figure among the pigsty, worry growing in him every second he took to search. He dropped down again as a stray teacup soared through the air and right through the crack of the window, landing with a heavy thump onto the dead grass. Crawling stealthily on all fours, he inched away from the living room towards other rooms; surely Yoochun was hiding out in one of them?
The way he was painstakingly peeking through every single window whilst crawling on the mud and dead grass was strangely reminiscent of those cheesy spy movies he’d watch with Yoochun every now and then when they were in the mood, and upon that thought he immediately chided himself for imagining something so silly in the midst of a legitimate serious event. Accidentally grazing his hand against a protruding twig, he grimaced as crimson liquid pooled out of the tiny cut. It stung - but certainly not as much as the pain Yoochun suffered in for so many years.
As his fingers clutched onto the wooden ledge, he heard a rather loud snap and looked at it alarmed, finding a long crack running down the decaying wood that most definitely did not exist a few seconds ago. He gulped guiltily, and then fell onto his butt and nearly screamed with a blurred figure popped up right by the windows noiselessly and almost instantaneously, almost ghost-like. Except with closer inspection, the “ghost” wearing all black was very much alive, though the pale flesh was not much indication, nor were the dead looking eyes and the barely detective breathing indicated by the slightest raise of an unhealthily skinny chest, and Junsu cringed in shame again as all these tiny but significant details had slipped through in lieu of a few other much more unimportant events.
The dead black eyes sparked back to life in recognition of the ungraceful sprawled figure lying on the dry dirt, and the figure backed away from the window as if the ledges was acidic, burning angry red into his two lacerated palms. “J-Junsu,” he stuttered, pale pink lips trembling. “What are you…” Yoochun never quite got the chance to finish the sentence as another ear-splitting crash of ceramic graced his ears, and terrified, his head swung back sharply in the direction of the sound, tongue peaking out nervously to lick his chapped lips as he stared long and hard at the door bolted shut.
With that perfect opportunity, the younger of the two leaped onto his feet and scrambled onto the ledge as it creaked ominously again under his overbearing weight, and clumsily he flipped over into Yoochun’s unfurnished and eerily clean room. There was a severe lack of any personality, gray walls and simple wooden floors, only the bare necessities of furniture dotting the sides of the walls. A closet with a small heap of old clothes Junsu always saw Yoochun wearing, a perfectly made bed with less-than-adequate thin sheets and no pillow, a cabinet, and the room was void of anything else.
The sight chilled Junsu to the bone by its homeliness and plainness. His room was on the opposite of the spectrum, splashed with haphazard, clashing colors, a dozen peeling posters covering the walls, some glossy and new, others old and peeling away, with a large and fluffy bed with sheets he often kicked away because of how stifling they were in the hot and humid summer days, and personal belongings scattered messily everywhere unless his mother forced him to clean up the room.
Tugging on Yoochun’s wrist - which was much too bony and thin for Junsu’s liking - he said urgently, “Let’s go.” Taking no heed of any protests and spluttering of unformed and incoherent words spewing awkwardly out of the other’s mouth, he dragged him bodily over. The older’s body was feather light, with hardly any resistance or difficulty, further disturbing the older. With a far more elegant leap out the low windows and the older trailing uncertainly after him, he lifted his bike from its abandoned position on the ground and habitually swung a leg over, his free hand patting the back invitingly. “Hurry!”
The older boy licked his lips nervously again, eyes darting towards the dilapidated house as the fierce argument continued with no hint of stopping anytime soon, and with another pressing word from the younger, he crawled onto the backseat, an arm wrapping tentatively around Junsu’s waist while the other hung free, slender fingers gripping the makeshift seat tightly. It was ironic how the roles had reversed this time.
And Junsu took off at a breakneck speed, even if it was less impressive than a motorbike, but nonetheless he wanted out of this miserable house and this miserable community where he felt questioning eyes prickling at the back of his neck, the curious neighbors watching as one boy stole away the other boy of a dysfunctional family on a bike and rode away. This made Junsu grit his teeth angrily. Why couldn’t any of the neighbors call Child Welfare? But on the other hand Yoochun would be taken away to a whole different place, a foster home and stuffed away with all the other pitiable misfits of society, leading an even more wretched life. Junsu would never be able to see the other teen again, and he could not even fathom the idea of never seeing his best friend who had melded into his life. Cutting Yoochun out would be cutting his heart out, and who knew how long that hole could be replaced, if ever?
In his long musings he dimly noticed the arm tightening around him, soon joined by another. The weight was oddly comforting as they rode past various neighborhoods, each better than the previous until he finally came to a slow halt in front of Junsu’s home of pale walls and black tiled roof, much brighter and cheerier than the desolation Yoochun resided in. Vaguely he was aware that his breathing had accelerated, and his heart was thudding loudly and rapidly in his chest as he drank in the familiar and reassuring scene of his home, and finally it hit him how eager and desperate he was to get away from Yoochun’s house.
The grip on his body relaxed and slipped away as he parked the bike properly, gripping Yoochun’s arm firmly and directing him towards the front door, afraid the other might want to make a run for it; he didn’t know why, but somehow it had gotten into him that the other might suddenly vanish with the winds to a distant place Junsu could not reach.
“Welcome ba-” the soft timbre of Junsu’s mother’s voice stopped abruptly as she caught sight of Yoochun’s lightly wounded body, eyes widened unashamedly as she eyed the two teens sharply.
Yoochun’s face flushed, shaking down his long sleeves so they covered well past his finger tips, a hand self-consciously brushing the bangs of his dark hair to hide his face, and the progressively darkening bruise on his cheek bone, sidling subconsciously behind Junsu’s form so the piercing stare could not reach them.
“Chun got into a fight,” Junsu lied lamely, unable to come up with any other excuses. Saying he fell off the stairs or got into a mild accident was too far-fetched. The wounds were placed too well, clear injuries that accidents did not cause.
But even this lie did not seem to trick his mother as she continued to survey them with an X-ray stare, looking right into their eyes and their minds and mentally taking in the situation calmly before finally saying, “Yoochun dear, come with me. You need to get those wounds cleaned up before they get infected.”
“It’s okay,” the other replied quietly. “It’s nothing big.”
But Junsu’s mother was unyielding in her decision and before long Yoochun found himself nearing the bathroom door, but not before he shot a pleading look to Junsu.
The other turned away.
(When did a barrier form between them?)
8. It wasn’t very rare for Junsu to see Yoochun cry like a leaking faucet. In fact, it was quite a common occurrence whenever the other watched a touching movie or read a book, he would end up curled up somewhere and sob his heart out, a box of tissues in hand as he blew his nose loudly into the soft material before balling it up and replacing with another. It was just one of the many attributes that sometimes made Junsu wonder if his best friend was secretly a girl in disguise because of all his feminine characteristics that popped out often.
But this time was different.
He had never seen Yoochun cry over things unrelated to heartstring tugging stories, and that bothered him. The other had always come across to him as a strong individual when it came to personal issues like such, which was why Junsu never hesitated to confide certain personal troubles he would be dealing with, confident the other would offer priceless advice on the situation. More than once had the makeshift sessions become great help to him.
Yet now, seeing Yoochun truly break down and cry, tears streaming nonstop down his face, eyes squeezed shut, and a hand clamped over his mouth in attempt to muffle his hiccups and sobbing as his frame shook violently, and his repeated fail attempts to attempt to stop, but every time his mouth opened to say “I’m sorry,” another sob racked through him, Junsu was truly dumbfounded as he sat helplessly next to Yoochun, letting the older cry it all out. It’ll make him feel better, he rationalized, and he wrapped his arms around Yoochun tightly. The other always craved physical affection and touch, and so that was what he did as he murmured reassurance to the other’s ears, and he eventually relaxed into Junsu’s embrace and buried his face in Junsu’s chest to silence the sobbing, but his body didn’t stop its violent trembles that repeatedly wracked his body.
Junsu rubbed his back soothingly and could only offer physical comfort and empty words that probably meant nothing, but were the only words that formed in his mind and out his mouth. He cursed his inability to express himself properly through words, when they were most needed. It was true that he couldn’t understand what his friend was possibly going through, not even close, but if he was a little more frank he would have admitted he was glad he did not understand this gut-wrenching pain, guiltily relieved that his family was dysfunctional but perfect.
Eventually Yoochun pulled away from Junsu’s now tear-soaked shirt that plastered uncomfortably onto his chest and averted his eyes. “I should leave,” he said, voice hoarse from crying. He pulled himself away from Junsu and stood unsteadily up, nearly tripping over his feet.
The other quickly caught him before he hit the ground. “Please stay,” Junsu begged, grip tightening on his thin wrists. He would not allow Yoochun to return to such a turbulent atmosphere, not until his parents calmed down, and not ever if life could go his way.
“Junsu, let me go.”
There weren’t any force behind his words. They were dead, lifeless, drained, empty, and Junsu’s heart clenched painfully again. “Please stay,” he said again, softer this time, more pleading. “I don’t want you to go back… back there.” The word ‘home’ choked him; he found that he was unable to utter the word. Home was safe, home was cozy, home was everything the chaos and pain of Yoochun’s family was not. He wrapped Yoochun in a tight hug, trying to ignore the sharp ribs poking into his chest, and the fact that the older was no longer taller than him, even though he had always been as long as he remembered. He should have been much taller than he was now. Uncontrollable tears welled into his eyes, and they spilled down his cheeks, dripping onto the ripped fabric of the other’s shirt as he clutched onto him more tightly. “Please don’t go…” His voice wavered, breaking.
And despite Yoochun’s best judgment, his resolve faltered and crumbled.
He stayed, through an awkward dinner with near palpable tension in the air emitted from Junsu’s mother and older twin, making him fidget uncomfortably in his seat as he forced himself not to eat like he had starved three days - which wasn’t terribly far from the truth - but Junsu’s mother kept piling food on his plate and urged him to eat more. He turned his eyes away every time, feeling the strong pity radiating from her. His hand tightened on the wooden chopsticks, a lump forming in his throat at the thought of how pathetic he had become, and longing for more of the motherly love he was given in Junsu’s household that he could only dream of from his own.
That night he crawled in bed with Junsu, pressing their bodies together much like they had done as children. He cuddled against the younger, legs and shoulders touching, his hand reaching out to grasp Junsu’s tightly and reveled in the heat and security he provided. Somehow like his personality, Junsu was the sun, casting happiness and warmth to anyone in the near proximity of him. And just for one night, Yoochun wanted to steal all of it selfishly and keep it to himself. The lull of sleep overtook him soon.
Junsu didn’t mind the close contact. He slung one arm protectively over Yoochun, as if afraid he’ll disappear like early morning mist and drew himself closer, burying his face in his shoulder and fell asleep very quickly, a deeper and sounder sleep than he had in a long time.
The next morning he woke up to emptiness and wrinkled sheets, not a single hair out of place, and no remaining body warmth. Alarmed, he searched the bathroom, the closet, and every bit of Park Yoochun’s belongings had simply vanished into thin air, gone with their owner as if Yoochun had never stepped into his house, had never being friends with him for all these years.
Junsu did not see him again for a long time.
(Yet he waited.)
9. To the ones waiting worriedly for another’s tentative return, time stretched from mere seconds to eternity, every minute that ticked by was another decade, every hour a century. Junsu had returned to Yoochun’s home once only to find it completely desolated, its furniture gathering dust from unused, and vacant. Even the mess he had witnessed the first time he came had completely disappeared. There was only a bone-chilling emptiness that hung around the house, and a very tattered For Sale sign nailed into the loose dirt and dead grass. Neighbors weren’t friendly in this part of the city, he quickly realized from the lack of response after knocking until his hands were sore and stinging. He never returned there again.
The situation scared him.
Yoochun and his family had completely disappeared.
Even after a week their teacher had finally gotten the hint and skipped over his name completely every day during roll call, as if Yoochun was no longer part of the class or school. No one talked about Yoochun’s absence. Maybe no one dared to. Or maybe no one cared. Unlike Junsu, who was a social butterfly and easily melted in with every group in the school without much effort, Yoochun had awkwardly stood out with his untidy clothes and long wavy hair pulled carelessly back into a pony tail, or sometimes it draped around his shoulders and defined his feminine features, the pouty pink lips, wide innocent eyes, and pale delicate skin. Yoochun always preferring to tote around notebooks filled with unfinished melodies and faded lyrics, hiding away in the safety of the tree shades out of sight and from people, a ways from the soccer field Junsu occupied. With a concentrated expression, he’d be furtively sketching Junsu playing soccer and hiding them, flustered, whenever Junsu approached him playfully and demanded what he was doing. Even now he didn’t think Yoochun was ever aware that Junsu knew exactly what he was doing, and was always in awe by how accurate his knowledge of the human anatomy was, and how realistic the sketches were. If he wasn’t to be a singer or composer, he should definitely become an artist or illustrator.
Every day, Junsu found himself taking studious notes, hoping Yoochun would miraculously return the next morning, with his usual cheery smile that formed cute dimples in his cheeks.
It was only two weeks later on a dreary day as he biked past the local hospital when he swerved sharply onto the sidewalk and carelessly parked it against the telephone pole, his eyes catching a familiar image emerging from the hospital. There was no mistaking the thin figure leaning against the wall, slender fingers reaching into jean pockets to pull out a box of cigarettes.
Yoochun looked like he crawled back from the dead. His hair was a tangled mess around his shoulders, his face pale as a ghost and eyes bloodshot, with heavy bags and dark circles. Clothes were dirty and unwashed, as if he hadn’t taken a shower in the past two weeks, which Junsu suspected wasn’t very far from the truth. But he was more bothered by the unhesitant and well-practiced way the other brought a cigarette to his lips and with a flick of the lighter, ignited the tip and took a long drag from it, blowing out a small cloud of smoke.
So he found himself stalking towards the older and snatching the cigarette out of his lips, tossing it onto the ground and snuffing the tip with his heel.
Yoochun looked up to him with bleary, glazed and confused eyes, mouth open into a puffy o shape. His hand was frozen in its position, the other still clutching tightly into the lighter and he blinked. Then the fog in his eyes cleared, and they widened. “J-Junsu!” he stammered, the lighter slipping away from his hand and onto the hard asphalt. The cheap plastic cracked, lighter fluid seeping steadily onto the pavement and out of the container.
Junsu swiftly pulled out the packet filled with more cigarettes, crushing them tightly in his fists and flung them into the trashcan. He stamped onto the broken lighter, hearing the satisfying crack as the plastic broke into pieces under his pressure. “What are you doing?” he asked, barely keeping his calm. “Why did you disappear for two fucking weeks with absolutely nothing? Not coming to school, house empty, everything gone, do you know how worried I was?” He barely registered that his hands were shaking violently.
“… I…” Yoochun did not reply. His eyes were filled with fear, and he was shivering, arms instinctively brought up to protect himself as if he was afraid… Afraid of what?
Then Junsu looked closer in Yoochun’s eyes and saw his own reflection in the dark orbs, a man whose boyish features were transformed into angered ones, eyes so cold and filled with fury about to erupt. Frightened by the image he saw, he backed up from the other.
“I’m sorry,” the long haired teen whispered, still in a defensive position, eyes darting on the ground where the broken lighter sat, the trashcan his precious cigarettes were thrown in, the curious stares of pedestrians, everywhere but Junsu. He jumped and nearly screamed in fear when he felt strong arms wrap around himself and squeezed tightly. But it was only Junsu. He relaxed almost immediately, sinking into the warm hug and closed his eyes, hearing barely controlled hiccups and the quiet drip-drop of tears onto his dirty shirt.
“I was so scared,” the younger sobbed into his shoulder. “You just disappeared. There was nothing left. I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you, if you died…” The words trailed off.
Gingerly Yoochun patted his back and return the hug. “I’m okay… don’t worry…” he murmured. Unlike him, it was rare for Junsu to ever cry. He could recall only two other instances, one being when he found out he had lost the singing auditions for a music company, his greatest passion, and the other being two weeks ago when the younger found out his parents were violent with each other and as a result, severely abusive to him. It shocked him to see Junsu break down in his arms again; he never considered he would be affected so greatly. In fact, he had assumed maybe if he erased his existence, maybe if there was a clean break eventually Junsu would forget completely about him and move on with his life. That was the ideal scenario, at least, but it backfired profoundly.
When Junsu finally calmed down, and he had led the two of them into a more secluded area away from the curious stares, Yoochun finally answered, “My mother was hospitalized.”
“What?” Junsu stared at him with wide eyes. “What happened?”
“She tried to commit suicide and nearly succeeded,” Yoochun said, too casually and plainly it gave chills down Junsu’s spine. “Then one of the neighbors called the cops and my father’s now locked up in jail for various charges of illegal gambling, human and drug trafficking, and a lot of things I didn’t even know he was doing. It’s a minimum sentence of thirty years, so I won’t be seeing him for a long time. My mom got locked up too. For child abuse and some other shit she was doing with my dad.” He kicked a loose pebble by the road, all in such a nonchalant manner Junsu was horrified.
A moment of silence.
“Why did you help her? Why didn’t you just leave her…” As soon as the words left Junsu’s mouth, he mentally slapped himself as Yoochun’s expression darkened. He couldn’t believe himself for bringing up such a moronic idea.
“I don’t know,” the other replied truthfully. He bit his lips. “She’s still my mother. I can’t just let my own mother die like that… it’s… too cruel… she still raised me after all. But you know what’s ironic?” There was a hint of emotion in the deadness, a spark of misery and desperation. “She said I shouldn’t have saved her. I should have let her die because the world’s ‘too fucked up and miserable to live’. Those were her exact words. And I’ve brought her nothing but bad luck ever since I was born. Hell, even before I was.” He was no longer observing his tattered sneakers and turned to Junsu, a bitter smile on his face, eyes filled with a swirl of dizzying turmoil and conflict. “What should I do, Junsu-ah? I have nothing now but this backpack and the clothes on my back. No home, no family, no money, absolutely nothing.”
It was a long time before Junsu spoke. “You fool… you stupid, heartless, idiotic, selfish fool. What about me? Did you forget about me?”
Yoochun shook his head. “You can’t get involved with me. Not anymore. With my father locked away, it’s only a matter of time before they hunt me down to finish what my father did.”
“Then change your name. My family will take you in. You know that they love you like their own son.”
“That’s not going to help. You know that.”
Junsu didn’t like this serious and cynical Yoochun one bit, not when the long-haired teen was almost always smiling and laughing himself silly at the lamest jokes Junsu liked to make, or anything he did. Yoochun found humor in every single thing especially if it had to do with the soccer player. But now he was expressionless and dead, the usually sparkling eyes too dull and desolate.
“Then what?!” Junsu screamed, finally losing his temper. Roughly he pulled Yoochun up by his collar - and tried to ignore how unnaturally light he was for an eighteen year old but he couldn’t - shoving him against the grimy wall. “Do you WANT to work for the mafia? Do you want to get your hands dirty with all the sick things they do?”
Yoochun smiled so bitterly and a hand slid into his pocket, pulling out a clean and spotless razor, wiggling it in front of Junsu’s face despite their close proximity, forcing the other to back up and let go. “Next time, I’ll just cut a little deeper. Then it’ll all be over.”
Junsu snatched it away, uncaring if it slid over his flesh and left thin cuts scattered over his palm and flung behind him, clattering onto the sidewalk and bounced into the dirt. “Stop it. Please. Just stop this.”
“Give me one good reason why.”
Because I’ll miss you. Because you’re my best friend. Because you’re an amazing person. Because you were always one of the strongest people I knew. Because you can make instruments sing. Because you have a beautiful voice. Because all the talent you have will be wasted. A million reasons raced through his thoughts that lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back; they sounded too selfish, too insignificant, as if a person can be measured by mere qualities and skills and quite frankly, Junsu was disgusted by his train of thought.
“Because…”
(Sometimes words were better left unsaid.)
10. Junsu wasn’t one for sappy goodbyes; in fact he considered himself as the ones to move on quickly and focus on the cheerful memories instead of lingering on bitter farewells. But this time, he hadn’t expected all the events to accumulate to such an end. Looking over the piece of paper over again, he frowned and wondered if it was really adequate as he ignored the guilt gnawing away at his heart. He set the pen down and taped the letter onto his desk with the barest hint of hesitation. His dark eyes raked carefully over his room. Everything was in place and properly cleaned, for the first time in too many years. It gave him chills.
The usually lively and cozy room now was bare of any personality or flair, bed made neatly, other furniture organized properly, and all writing and posters taken down from the walls and stowed carefully away in the corner of his closet. Only one item lay out of place, the backpack filled with his most important belongings, the bare necessities of clothing, toiletry, along with his computer and phone with their respective chargers all packed neatly away. He checked his wallet one more time, making sure there was a sufficient amount of money and his ID was still in place, and a credit card for extreme circumstances. But he knew it would probably remain untouched. A lump rose in his throat when he noticed a tiny picture tucked with the card, the picture of his family when he and Junho were still young and rambunctious children.
Junsu looked over his letter, just for one last time.
Mom, Dad, Junho.
I’m sorry but I can’t stay anymore. I just can’t I wish I could explain properly but I’m leaving, for good. I don’t mean to I’ll keep in tou Don’t look for me. But I’ll be in Maybe one day you’ll find me again. But I will be changing my name, so maybe not. It’s hard to explain. You’ll understand one day. I don’t know but I hope so. Please don’t hate me. I realized This life wasn’t what I wanted after all. Don’t worry though, Yoochun is with me. We’re in this together. And no, it’s not his fault please don’t think
This was hard for me too. But I love you guys so much. Thanks for putting up with me through these years.
I’m sorry. I really am.
Love,
Junsu
A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder, and he whirled around to face a frowning Yoochun. “I’m sorry,” the long-haired teen said softly. “You really don’t have to come with me.”
Junsu smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way - he wasn’t sure because he was too uncertain, more afraid of what was to come than he was willing to admit - and replied, “Don’t worry. Thanks to you I realized what I wanted after all. If I stayed here, my life will be repetitive. This will be all I know. Going to Seoul will be a good experience for the both of us.”
“But…” Yoochun’s eyes remained troubled as he chewed his bottom lip nervously out of habit.
“Hey, who knows? Maybe we’ll make it and become stars. Then there’s nothing to worry.” Being optimistic never felt so difficult and forced, and Junsu felt his smile falter and drop.
Yoochun suddenly stepped forward and embraced him tightly. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, and Junsu knew by the familiar pattern of the other’s breath hitching and his body shaking that Yoochun was crying again, teardrops falling onto his shirt and staining the fabric a darker shade. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
(But Junsu wasn’t and that was all that mattered.)
11. It was almost midnight when the old bus screeched to a loud halt at the edge of the town, its headlights illuminating the dark night and Junsu and Yoochun found themselves squinting at its sign to make sure that it was indeed heading to Seoul. Hand in hand, they clung on to the only familiarity of each other’s warmth, and carrying meager belongings they boarded the bus onto unknown territory; there was no turning back. Not anymore.
The clock struck midnight as the bus took off towards their ethereal and idealistic dreams and aspirations, away from their old lives and into the new.
(Perhaps fairy tales existed after all.)
(AN: I keep rewriting the ending… it just feels imperfect, but this is the best I can do. ;A; This entire thing is probably very raw but it’s pretty much my emotional output… also why it took me five months to finish. The inspiration and many things here come from personal experience and close friends, and many what-ifs. What if something else had happened instead of what had happened? Things I don’t want to think about. This fic has a semi-happy ending, and life hasn’t shown a wholly happy ending yet.
Anyhow though, hope you enjoyed it! Spread the Yoosu love! :3 And please leave a comment, it’ll make me motivated to write more.)