Meteors [Chapter 6]
Chapter: 6
Pairings: YooMin
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance, Fluff, slight Angst
Summary:
There is only one truth, Changmin believes, and only one question - is it the one you want?
There is only chance, Yoochun thinks - the meteor crashes, or it doesn’t. And if it does the only question is, will you run fast enough or let the stars collide?
Part 6. Of escapes and October 24
“Hyung…”
“It’ll be fine.”
“But-“
“I said it’ll be fine”, Yoochun draws on his cigarette, the first one in years, but doesn’t find it in himself to feel guilty about it. Today he really needs one.
He shoots a glance at Yoowhan. His brother’s eyes are too big, too dark, too anxious. The cold neon lights outside the convenient store make his face seem even paler than it is already, younger, and Yoochun looks away, his stomach churning.
“…Dad looked about to hit her.”
“He’d never raise his hand on mom.”
“I know but he still-“
“He was angry, that’s all” Yoochun cuts him again, feeling sick. He throws his half-smoked cigarette on the ground and crushes it under his sole, rubbing his face wearily. He should go home but Yoowhan is worried, they can’t part ways like this. He has to fix it first. It’s going to be fine anyway, it’s not the first time after all. It will get better. It will, surely.
“…She was crying.”
“…”
“She hasn’t cried in front of us since… since then.”
Yoowhan’s voice fell to a whisper and just like this, Yoochun knows he’s fighting tears. He doesn’t need to look, he just knows. He doesn’t want to look.
He’s staring down at the ground and instead of asphalt, it is tiles he sees. Row after row of shining white tiles, perfectly aligned, spotless and cold, and Yoowhan’s sobs echoing loudly in the bathroom late into the night - but not loud enough to cover the faint sound of their parents’ shouts from the living room. So many years ago.
“It’ll be alright”, Yoochun adds without thinking, out of habit. He’s staring down at the ground and pretending the tears on his mother’s face earlier never happened.
“…Yes” Yoowhan says in a very low voice next to him, “yes, it’ll be alright.”
Yoochun doesn’t need to look to know he’s crying.
~
Her name is Jungmi.
Changmin saw her again at the cafeteria several times - encounters that were partly due to chance, but also to his more or less conscious habit of going for lunch around the time when he first met her. It wasn’t long before they ended up at the same table for lunch.
Changmin naturally feels comfortable around her, which is unusual but seems reciprocal. Even more surprising as far as he’s concerned, Jungmi doesn’t seem to mind his knack for saying the exact wrong thing at the wrong moment. Though she did look a little bewildered the first time, when Changmin pointedly stared at her brand new phone and said he didn’t understand the need for people to always get their hands on the latest stuff when what they already have works perfectly well, it’s stupid, don’t you think it’s a waste?
A week later, when Changmin observed yellow didn’t suit her, Jungmi retorted it was weird hearing this from a guy who had one set of clothes set for each day of the week. Changmin didn’t think anyone would notice. He was about to start explaining and embarrass himself further when Jungmi offhandedly commented that she liked the Thursday one - his favorite jeans, and the dark grey shirt that his sisters got for him two years ago and that Changmin liked because it went well with everything and made him look older than his age.
Now she either ignores every unpleasant comment or tells him to mind his own business, and sometimes throws something back at him. The last time she did he found himself speechless while she just laughed and laughed, and for once didn’t hold back.
Before he knew it he was staring. He watched as Jungmi wiped a tear of laughter at the corner of her eye and smiled, and this time it nearly, nearly felt whole - only lacking maybe a tinge of carefreeness, a spark of innocence and freedom because it’s fine, it’s right to sometimes let masks fall and allow others to have a glimpse at who you really are.
Soon, Changmin finds he really likes who Jungmi seems to really be.
Barely two months after they first met at the cafeteria, he asks her to wait for him near the university entrance after her classes ended. She shows up a bit late, and he notices how her hair is more nicely arranged than usual and the nervous smile on her lips.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, point-blank as usual.
She shakes her head and Changmin takes her hand. He smiles when she intertwines their fingers. There is no need for words. That’s how simple love is.
~
Big - that’s how Changmin’s hand feels in his. Too big, but Yoochun’s fingers are long so he can wrap them around Changmin’s just fine. Still, it doesn’t quite fit - like two pieces of a puzzle being forced together.
It’s warm though. Changmin’s hand is warm while Yoochun’s hand is cold, and that warmth is what keeps them connected together as rain falls and falls in the streets around them, washing away days of monotony. Pouring rain that blurs colors blue and drowns the city sounds - except when a car passes by sometimes and it’s like a huge body of water has come to life, swelling and rushing past them only to fade away quickly in the distance, unconcerned by the two still figures hidden under a roof overhand in one of Seoul’s old, tortuous streets.
Rain drums relentlessly and erases it all, and leaves them alone in an empty world. Alone but together, hands joined, fingers intertwined tightly as if to ensure that the most important reality is here, right here, entirely living in that simple contact, within the feelings that touch is sheltering.
Yoochun’s hand is cold, but he distantly remembers how his grandma used to tell him that the people with cold hands had the warmest hearts.
Next to him Changmin is talking. Yoochun isn’t listening. He’s looking at him - at how perfect everything is. The outline of his face, the tempting red of his lips and the secret of his eyes, brown tinged in gold and black and every unnamed color in between… the strand of wet hair plastered on his forehead and drawing a funny little comma there, the white expanse of skin of his neck begging to be touched and explored. And again, Changmin’s hand so warm, so tightly wrapped around his.
Everything so perfect, and everything Yoochun’s.
His, all of it. No one else’s. It was Yoochun who found it first. It was Yoochun who fell so deep. It was Yoochun who uncovered how Changmin had to be loved; no one else but him can do it right.
He doesn’t want to talk. He leans to the side and kisses Changmin, gently, until the air between them changes, slowed and charged, and he knows the younger closed his eyes… until nothing matters but the barely there warmth of their lips touching, the certainty of their joined hands, the fierce heat in their hearts as rain won’t stop pouring. The world is such a cold place but Changmin’s lips are moving against his, asking for more and silently drawing him close. It is a spell, one without words.
Yoochun concedes a kiss, and another. He tilts his head and lets him taste and take all he wants while his own hands found a way under Changmin’s coat, seeking heat. He’s craving it, craving fire, passion and skin and something more, needing… needing him more than anything else because it’s only like this that he’s breathing and living, living for real, so intensely it hurts, so much it-
“Yoochun?”
A slow blink.
“…You weren’t listening to a word of what I was saying, right?”
“I was listening” Yoochun shakes his head, making a huge effort to come back to the now.
To Changmin’s room in the small apartment he’s now renting with Junsu. To rain, yes, but muffled, falling on the other side of the open window. Also to the insurmountable distance separating them -Yoochun sitting on the bed while Changmin is pacing back and forth, and telling him about how he fell in love.
And it’s so much easier to pretend that the lively light in Changmin’s eyes is only meant for him. That Yoochun is the reason why he seems so carefree those days. That the rich, vibrant undertone in his voice - happiness - was born because of him too.
“I was saying, Jungmi is studying Arts but I’m not sure what she-“
“No one cares.”
Changmin stops pacing and glares. Yoochun does his very best to bring a teasing smile to his lips.
“Is she pretty?”
“…I suppose.”
Yoochun rolls his eyes and Changmin crosses his arms, watching him a tad warily.
“I mean I find her pretty but maybe you wouldn’t because it’s different according to people so I don’t want you to get ideas like I know you will but-“
“I wasn’t asking for an essay.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
Changmin’s face is flushed. He’s embarrassed… restless, smiling for no reason, his voice louder than usual, his expression not as guarded. A little less caught up in that damn yoke of logic and lines not to cross. And he also looks gentler. Younger. His eyes radiate softness that Yoochun never saw there before, and it’s not his fault if he notices all this. Yoochun has been watching him for so long, he has no idea how to stop looking.
Changmin is beautiful when he’s in love, and he doesn’t even know. But Yoochun sees it all.
It hurts.
He looks at Changmin’s hand - too big - then looks down at his own. Cold. So cold, when the one warmth he wants exists in his imagination only.
But that’s okay.
Yoochun can still dream delusions into life. He can dream them. He can dream of their linked hands… dream of an embrace lost somewhere in unrelenting rain, of Changmin’s body pressed so close to his that everything cold in the world would melt in the span of a kiss, in the heat of feelings, in the shining burn of just a moment. Yoochun has all the space of his dreams to make feelings come true - that’s enough. More than enough. That’s infinite, and it doesn’t matter if Changmin never knows about the heart-stopping moments that Yoochun’s imagination effortlessly sketches and that fit so right they often feel truer than how reality turns out to be.
In front of him Changmin is back to rambling, and Yoochun only pays attention to his eyes. He wants that soft look to seep in so deep that nothing will ever hurt again. He doesn’t care that it’s not meant for him and suppresses the ache within his chest. He’s going to steal what he can’t have, that’s all. He’s going to dream what he can’t live. He found what he needed and wanted, and it doesn’t matter how he gets it as long as he has it.
It takes two for love to happen. It takes one for love to exist, and Yoochun found love that exists just through him. He likes how frail that feeling is, depending on him entirely. He likes how strong it is too - he thinks that even if the whole world were to vanish in rain, his heart would still find a way back to the one person that unknowingly and greedily claimed it all. So, no… no it’s not sad.
It’s just that everything could have been so perfect.
~
There goes one year of their lives. A full cycle, seasons taking turns and following their eternal round as people grow and change. The lines of Changmin’s existence don’t shift much.
There is his family, now back to a new balance, looking ahead. Junsu, whose days seem to last 50 hours with all the studying, socializing, gaming, soccer, parties and more he manages to cram in them. Yoochun’s unchanging life, his silences and his jokes, his counter in the convenient store, his crappy car and insane best friend, the same messy apartment and the same easy smile on his lips.
And Jungmi of course. Her laughter, how her voice calls his name, a first trip together, the way her body fits in his arms, sleepless nights spent talking, the sweetness of her kisses, how Changmin can’t remember how his life was before her. The indescribable taste of a first “I love you”.
One year without much change, only predicable choices, but that suits Changmin just fine. It’s safe, like a warm cocoon of habits wrapping all around him and ensuring that his existence from now on will always stay this way, familiar and cozy.
And then, one day, there’s a call in the middle of the night.
“Can you come?” he hears Yoochun ask as soon as he picks up.
It’s night and it’s quiet, save for Junsu’s soft snores coming from the room next door. Changmin’s phone feels heavy in his hand. His thoughts are still blurred, tangled in the remnants of a dream, but something about the situation feels strangely familiar. Like a reverse image.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he tries to place where that déjà-vu comes from.
Yoochun doesn’t say anything for a very long time.
Changmin is well awake now. Worried, too. His eyesight adjusted to the darkness and he can make out the familiar contours of the room - his desk, the door, the distinct shape of the window revealing the eerie orange glow from the streets’ neon lights. A glance at the alarm clock tells him it’s past 2am. His heart tightens and speeds up a little. Something isn’t normal.
“It’s okay, I just wanted to hear your voice” Yoochun says at last, his voice soft and strangely muffled.
Then he hangs up and Changmin slowly lowers his phone, staring at it without really seeing anything and wondering where the emptiness inside his chest comes from.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”
Yoochun vaguely registers Changmin’s indignant tone. Why didn’t he tell him… good question indeed, he muses, fiddling with the hem of an old T-shirt - his favorite, colorless, shapeless, and with a smell to it that a thousand trips to the washing machine wouldn’t manage to eradicate. Comfort clothes.
“I didn’t even tell Jaejoong” he provides, as if that would answer Changmin’s question, and ignores the protests and demands for explanations that follow.
Yoochun didn’t want Jaejoong to know, or Changmin, or anyone for that matter. It wasn’t their business. It is no one’s business if Yoochun’s life is falling apart again. It’s not like they’d understand anyway. Jaejoong never experienced anything like this, and Changmin… Changmin has too much willpower to relate. He just gets back on his feet and moves on, and Yoochun could never do that.
God he feels like crap.
He sniffs, grabbing a pillow near and clutching it to his chest, and tries to focus on Changmin’s voice again. He doesn’t know why he doubted the younger man would come. He was already convinced that Changmin had just ignored his call and gone back to sleep when the other arrived ten minutes ago. That makes him feel slightly bad, but nowadays their lives feel so different that sometimes he wondered if Changmin really cares. Really, really cares.
But judging by how upset Changmin sounds right now, Yoochun is a complete moron for having dared to question that.
“Just say something damnit!!”
Yoochun looks up when the volume of Changmin’s voice goes up several anxious notches. He takes notice of the young man’s bed hair and tired face. His eyes are still puffy with sleep, in spite of the glare currently aimed at Yoochun and making it plain that Changmin does indeed care and is also very, very unhappy. He put his sweater the other way round and Yoochun can see the tag sticking out from under the collar, just below Changmin’s chin. He focuses on that, the way it moves as the younger talks, a useless patch of white fabric with no meaning and nothing, nothing happened, nothing, it’s alright, it just-
“Yoochun…?!”
A hand grabs his arm. The cushion drops on the floor as Yoochun absently wipes away the tear that slipped out at the corner of his eye, wishing Changmin wouldn’t look so worried.
“I’m fine” he says.
There’s a silence. Changmin looks about to hit him, and Yoochun speaks again.
“…alright, I’m not fine at all.”
Just saying it and his throat tightens, and shit, he hasn’t felt so miserable in years. The sensation of failure that crashes down next makes him want to curl up on himself and cry his heart out until it all miraculously becomes right except that’s not going to change anything. He should’ve known anyway, there were countless signs the past year and given how much his parents have been fighting, divorce was the only solution left and now it will probably be easier, right?
Right…
“I mean, I’m really, really not fine” he adds hoarsely.
“I know.”
“I hate them.”
Yoochun knows he’s reacting like a four years old.
That’s ridiculous. He’s an adult now. Still, he had promised Yoowhan that it’d be alright - just last week he was still telling him surely it would get better, and when Yoowhan gave him a look and told him to stop doing this, Yoochun only stared back and wondered what that meant.
Changmin’s hand comes on top of his - a gentle touch, warm as always - and Yoochun notices then that his own hands are shaking. He tries to stop it but it’s not working. He managed not to waver for a year, he managed to hold on and hope but it was all in vain. Now it’s breaking apart all over again, nothing makes sense anymore and he still doesn’t know where the guilt comes from.
“What do you…” he starts and swallows hard, trying to steady his voice, “what did you say you do when you’re sad, Changmin?”
“I-“
“When it a-all… when everything just becomes n-nothing and you can’t-“
“Yoochun…”
Changmin’s fingers tighten around his hand and he lets the younger man pull him up to his feet. It feels a little like he’s dreaming and a little like he drank too much. Like reality isn’t as real as it should.
He follows Changmin out of the apartment, down the stairs, and in the street. Outside it’s dark and empty but the younger man is still holding his hand tightly. Yoochun can’t read the expression on his face - he isn’t trying either. There’s something so heavy on his heart that it’s making hard to breathe. His mother looked relieved, Yoowhan didn’t even cry, and in Yoochun’s mind, the image that keeps replaying is the one of his dad smiling awkwardly and “I think we should’ve done it earlier”. His heart twists painfully.
Yoochun hates himself for being like this.
He follows along when Changmin’s hand tugs him forward. He walks faster when Changmin’s pace quickens. He blindly holds onto his hand. He starts running when Changmin runs because that hand is all Yoochun has left right now, and he can’t let go of it. Faster… faster not to lose ground, faster not to fall behind and end up all alone, faster and faster, aimless and blind, at first only clinging onto Changmin’s fingers until it becomes hard.
Soon he’s out of breath. His lungs hurt. His legs hurt, he doesn’t know why they are running and where. He starts pulling on Changmin’s hand to make him stop but the younger man doesn’t slow down. He’s holding his hand in a vice-like grip and Yoochun has no choice but to follow, and faster, faster, he wants to stop, he can’t and something akin hopelessness is building up inside.
Street after street, places he doesn’t know, lights he doesn’t see. He hears his own labored breathing, hears the haphazard sound of his steps… running like a drunken man, without purpose and without strength. He feels ready to collapse yet Changmin mercilessly drags him forward and ignores it when Yoochun shouts for him to stop. Tired. Confused. Frustrated. So weak and he hates it, hates it, he needs to stop and he’s starting to feel angry.
He can’t breathe, can’t see, still forward, still running and it’s unfair, cruel- it’s not… it just… they promised and Yoochun feels played, cheated, like he’s been lied to and everyone knew but him and Yoowhan should have cried. His mother should’ve collapsed and his father apologized then it wouldn’t have been just him… just Yoochun with his stupid hopes and ridiculous promises, beliefs he held onto for so long and it was all fake and lies, lies, lies everywhere and before he knows it he’s running for real, his heart full and heavy, emotions raging painfully and seeking an outlet.
Faster now. Catching up, until he’s at the same level with Changmin. Faster to move ahead, to let it out whatever it takes and he doesn’t need air anymore, can’t feel his legs, his steps hammering the ground and blood pounding at his ears.
He doesn’t notice the moment Changmin lets go of his hand but suddenly Yoochun is flying.
Hurtling down an empty street, not knowing where he’s going and why and who cares anyway… who cares as long as something cracks and that bundle of fake hopes implodes and disintegrates, it’s okay if it hurts, it doesn’t matter anymore even as tears run down his face, even as Yoochun hears sobs but this time they aren’t Yoowhan’s. Wounded. Broken. Betrayed.
He trips and stumbles forward, about to lose his balance when hands grab him from behind and the next thing he knows, Yoochun is wrapped in Changmin’s arms, his face buried against the younger man’s shoulder.
The world is spinning and he clings onto him, clutching the other’s sweater. He’s trying to catch his breath, panting harshly and feeling Changmin’s chest fall and rise fast close to him. Yoochun can’t stop the tears. His entire body is shaking from the effort and pain, releasing months of cooped-up anguish. His legs soon give in and he ends up sitting on the floor, breathless and fighting tears even as Changmin’s arms are keeping him so close like to say it’s okay.
Yoochun wants to scream and hit him for having stupid ideas like this. He’s also hoping Changmin won’t let go, ever, and as awful as he feels right now, he can’t help but relish in the closeness.
Changmin isn’t doing much. He isn’t talking, he isn’t rubbing his back or threading his fingers through his hair soothingly or any of those things Jaejoong would do. It’s just an embrace, but Yoochun closes his eyes and finds he doesn’t want anything else. Changmin’s presence - his hands, his scent, his strength, reassuring and warm - it’s the only comfort he needs right now. He did great at keeping a distance but this time… just once…
He lets out a shaky sigh, and slowly, one after the other, the tears stop flowing - leaving only a slight burn at the corner of his eyes and wet cold lines down his cheeks. Changmin shifts a little, his arms moving higher on his back but not loosening their hold.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again very softly, his voice rising clear and steady against the silence of the night.
Yoochun moves his head higher on Changmin’s shoulder and takes one of the other’s hands in his own. Changmin lets him so he intertwines their fingers tight. He forbade himself to cross that kind of line but tonight the world has once again gone wrong, and he needs something right. He needs not to feel so alone.
“It’d have make it real…” he answers, his voice barely above a whisper, and for once the truth is the simplest answer. “I didn’t want it to be real.”
“You always run away.”
Yoochun lets out a bitter laugh.
“Can’t you be nice for once?”
“We could’ve talked about it” Changmin ignores him, sounding hurt, “we could… I don’t know, we could’ve done things together, to change your mind. It’d have been better.”
“It’d have changed nothing.”
“It’d have changed a lot.”
A silence.
“…It changed a lot for me.”
Yoochun swallows around the lump in his throat. He rubs his eyes with his free hand, the other still holding onto Changmin’s, and looks around for the first time. There are only silent houses and dark windows here… closed shops, a modern building across the street. A bus stop. On their left, spotlights uselessly orchestrating an empty crossroad.
“I hope you know where we are” Yoochun says “because I’ve no idea.”
“It’s going to be fine, you know” Changmin insists stubbornly, paying no heed to that poor attempt to change the subject.
“And you’ll have to carry me back home. I can’t see any taxi near.”
“It’s going to take some time, but it’ll all be fine.”
Yoochun frowns, not exactly wanting to hear that now.
“Don’t you know how to read the mood?”
“What I know is that you’re trying to run away again.”
He pulls away to see Changmin’s expression. The younger man looks dead serious of course, and indeed that’s why Yoochun didn’t want to tell him. Changmin would have made him face it. But that’s just not who Yoochun is.
“It’s not going to be fine” he says curtly. “I know it already. Spare yourself the trouble.”
“It will, eventually” Changmin retorts, unfazed. “Not now of course, but someday soon.”
“My parents got a divorce” Yoochun states bluntly “that won’t change. It’s over.”
“You still have them both.”
Changmin’s voice softened ever so slightly, ringing with rare but sincere compassion, and bearing an indistinct note of sadness that pierces right through Yoochun’s heart. He tenses.
“…you can’t compare” he argues despite himself, his voice wavering as he remembers empty pain in Changmin’s eyes and then tears - too many tears - and a pale smile passing on a tired faced, and how innocence had already withered there.
“I’m not comparing.”
Like on impulse, Changmin suddenly brings their linked hands to his lap. The move obliges Yoochun to shift closer, his arm twisted at an awkward angle, but he isn’t going to complain.
“I’m staying with you tonight” the young man announces resolutely, as if he expects him to argue “and we’re spending the week-end together. It’s been ages.”
“I thought you had some trip planned with Jungmi Saturday” Yoochun sniffs. God knows he heard him ramble about that one for hours on the phone.
“Oh…” Changmin pauses. “She’ll understand.”
Yoochun doubts it but doesn’t argue. Just thinking of having Changmin all to himself for two whole days and his heart already feels a little less heavy. He doesn’t mind if the younger man pesters him the entire time to stop wallowing in self-inflicted misery, face forward, move on, clean up your place, clean your clothes, clean yourself up while you’re at it and damn Yoochun, I can’t believe you’re 26, is that even edible and when was the last time you ate something else than instant noodles?
No, Yoochun doesn’t mind at all.
Of course he doesn’t mind either when Changmin starts rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. It’s definitely awkward but he knows Changmin isn’t one for hugs and touches. Changmin offers advices rather than comfort. He’d sooner give a dozen accurate definitions of “commiseration”, “sympathy” and the likes than actually give it a try. Changmin made both his sisters cry when he told them Santa did not exist and has yet to feel remorse about it, and Yoochun remembers he got kicked out of his high school’s theatre group because he always ended up laughing in the middle of the supposedly heart-wrenching parts.
For the first time that day, a small smile rises to his lips.
“Can you say it again?” Yoochun whispers softly, his eyes closing on their own will. The thick darkness of night is comforting now, when it felt so void just a moment before.
“Say what?”
“That it’ll be alright.”
Changmin moves closer, still not letting go of Yoochun’s hand. It’s starting to get cold, yet starting to get warm. It’s starting to feel like one of those scenes Yoochun usually dreams.
“It’ll be alright” the young man says in a very low voice, “you’ll see”.
Changmin doesn’t lie, never.
A few late tears escape and run down Yoochun’s face - a few more tears that don’t exactly hurt, disillusioned and worn. It was hard, clinging onto a breaking hope. Yoochun lets go now because he couldn’t do it earlier, he had to wait until the very last minute, until the last door closed.
Yoochun thinks you don’t decide of what happens in life.
He’s also convinced that for as long as someone will believe in something, no matter how farfetched, no matter how unlikely, there’ll be a chance for it to come true. He’d rather keep all doors open - even if beyond lays only emptiness, and even if they let darkness come in - than take the risk of closing one. He wants to be that person giving a chance to every future, and believing in what no one else would trust.
So he dreams. Foolishly, fiercely, Yoochun dreams, and learns nothing.
Part 7.
Note: Yoochun I'm sorry, sincerely >< (I swear it's all going to get better though). The angst ride is starting for real, please bear with me (them), I just had to.. ^^;;
Hope you'll like this chapter anyway, and a good week-end to everyone! :)
Pairings: YooMin
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance, Fluff, slight Angst
Summary:
There is only one truth, Changmin believes, and only one question - is it the one you want?
There is only chance, Yoochun thinks - the meteor crashes, or it doesn’t. And if it does the only question is, will you run fast enough or let the stars collide?
Part 6. Of escapes and October 24
“Hyung…”
“It’ll be fine.”
“But-“
“I said it’ll be fine”, Yoochun draws on his cigarette, the first one in years, but doesn’t find it in himself to feel guilty about it. Today he really needs one.
He shoots a glance at Yoowhan. His brother’s eyes are too big, too dark, too anxious. The cold neon lights outside the convenient store make his face seem even paler than it is already, younger, and Yoochun looks away, his stomach churning.
“…Dad looked about to hit her.”
“He’d never raise his hand on mom.”
“I know but he still-“
“He was angry, that’s all” Yoochun cuts him again, feeling sick. He throws his half-smoked cigarette on the ground and crushes it under his sole, rubbing his face wearily. He should go home but Yoowhan is worried, they can’t part ways like this. He has to fix it first. It’s going to be fine anyway, it’s not the first time after all. It will get better. It will, surely.
“…She was crying.”
“…”
“She hasn’t cried in front of us since… since then.”
Yoowhan’s voice fell to a whisper and just like this, Yoochun knows he’s fighting tears. He doesn’t need to look, he just knows. He doesn’t want to look.
He’s staring down at the ground and instead of asphalt, it is tiles he sees. Row after row of shining white tiles, perfectly aligned, spotless and cold, and Yoowhan’s sobs echoing loudly in the bathroom late into the night - but not loud enough to cover the faint sound of their parents’ shouts from the living room. So many years ago.
“It’ll be alright”, Yoochun adds without thinking, out of habit. He’s staring down at the ground and pretending the tears on his mother’s face earlier never happened.
“…Yes” Yoowhan says in a very low voice next to him, “yes, it’ll be alright.”
Yoochun doesn’t need to look to know he’s crying.
~
Her name is Jungmi.
Changmin saw her again at the cafeteria several times - encounters that were partly due to chance, but also to his more or less conscious habit of going for lunch around the time when he first met her. It wasn’t long before they ended up at the same table for lunch.
Changmin naturally feels comfortable around her, which is unusual but seems reciprocal. Even more surprising as far as he’s concerned, Jungmi doesn’t seem to mind his knack for saying the exact wrong thing at the wrong moment. Though she did look a little bewildered the first time, when Changmin pointedly stared at her brand new phone and said he didn’t understand the need for people to always get their hands on the latest stuff when what they already have works perfectly well, it’s stupid, don’t you think it’s a waste?
A week later, when Changmin observed yellow didn’t suit her, Jungmi retorted it was weird hearing this from a guy who had one set of clothes set for each day of the week. Changmin didn’t think anyone would notice. He was about to start explaining and embarrass himself further when Jungmi offhandedly commented that she liked the Thursday one - his favorite jeans, and the dark grey shirt that his sisters got for him two years ago and that Changmin liked because it went well with everything and made him look older than his age.
Now she either ignores every unpleasant comment or tells him to mind his own business, and sometimes throws something back at him. The last time she did he found himself speechless while she just laughed and laughed, and for once didn’t hold back.
Before he knew it he was staring. He watched as Jungmi wiped a tear of laughter at the corner of her eye and smiled, and this time it nearly, nearly felt whole - only lacking maybe a tinge of carefreeness, a spark of innocence and freedom because it’s fine, it’s right to sometimes let masks fall and allow others to have a glimpse at who you really are.
Soon, Changmin finds he really likes who Jungmi seems to really be.
Barely two months after they first met at the cafeteria, he asks her to wait for him near the university entrance after her classes ended. She shows up a bit late, and he notices how her hair is more nicely arranged than usual and the nervous smile on her lips.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, point-blank as usual.
She shakes her head and Changmin takes her hand. He smiles when she intertwines their fingers. There is no need for words. That’s how simple love is.
~
Big - that’s how Changmin’s hand feels in his. Too big, but Yoochun’s fingers are long so he can wrap them around Changmin’s just fine. Still, it doesn’t quite fit - like two pieces of a puzzle being forced together.
It’s warm though. Changmin’s hand is warm while Yoochun’s hand is cold, and that warmth is what keeps them connected together as rain falls and falls in the streets around them, washing away days of monotony. Pouring rain that blurs colors blue and drowns the city sounds - except when a car passes by sometimes and it’s like a huge body of water has come to life, swelling and rushing past them only to fade away quickly in the distance, unconcerned by the two still figures hidden under a roof overhand in one of Seoul’s old, tortuous streets.
Rain drums relentlessly and erases it all, and leaves them alone in an empty world. Alone but together, hands joined, fingers intertwined tightly as if to ensure that the most important reality is here, right here, entirely living in that simple contact, within the feelings that touch is sheltering.
Yoochun’s hand is cold, but he distantly remembers how his grandma used to tell him that the people with cold hands had the warmest hearts.
Next to him Changmin is talking. Yoochun isn’t listening. He’s looking at him - at how perfect everything is. The outline of his face, the tempting red of his lips and the secret of his eyes, brown tinged in gold and black and every unnamed color in between… the strand of wet hair plastered on his forehead and drawing a funny little comma there, the white expanse of skin of his neck begging to be touched and explored. And again, Changmin’s hand so warm, so tightly wrapped around his.
Everything so perfect, and everything Yoochun’s.
His, all of it. No one else’s. It was Yoochun who found it first. It was Yoochun who fell so deep. It was Yoochun who uncovered how Changmin had to be loved; no one else but him can do it right.
He doesn’t want to talk. He leans to the side and kisses Changmin, gently, until the air between them changes, slowed and charged, and he knows the younger closed his eyes… until nothing matters but the barely there warmth of their lips touching, the certainty of their joined hands, the fierce heat in their hearts as rain won’t stop pouring. The world is such a cold place but Changmin’s lips are moving against his, asking for more and silently drawing him close. It is a spell, one without words.
Yoochun concedes a kiss, and another. He tilts his head and lets him taste and take all he wants while his own hands found a way under Changmin’s coat, seeking heat. He’s craving it, craving fire, passion and skin and something more, needing… needing him more than anything else because it’s only like this that he’s breathing and living, living for real, so intensely it hurts, so much it-
“Yoochun?”
A slow blink.
“…You weren’t listening to a word of what I was saying, right?”
“I was listening” Yoochun shakes his head, making a huge effort to come back to the now.
To Changmin’s room in the small apartment he’s now renting with Junsu. To rain, yes, but muffled, falling on the other side of the open window. Also to the insurmountable distance separating them -Yoochun sitting on the bed while Changmin is pacing back and forth, and telling him about how he fell in love.
And it’s so much easier to pretend that the lively light in Changmin’s eyes is only meant for him. That Yoochun is the reason why he seems so carefree those days. That the rich, vibrant undertone in his voice - happiness - was born because of him too.
“I was saying, Jungmi is studying Arts but I’m not sure what she-“
“No one cares.”
Changmin stops pacing and glares. Yoochun does his very best to bring a teasing smile to his lips.
“Is she pretty?”
“…I suppose.”
Yoochun rolls his eyes and Changmin crosses his arms, watching him a tad warily.
“I mean I find her pretty but maybe you wouldn’t because it’s different according to people so I don’t want you to get ideas like I know you will but-“
“I wasn’t asking for an essay.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
Changmin’s face is flushed. He’s embarrassed… restless, smiling for no reason, his voice louder than usual, his expression not as guarded. A little less caught up in that damn yoke of logic and lines not to cross. And he also looks gentler. Younger. His eyes radiate softness that Yoochun never saw there before, and it’s not his fault if he notices all this. Yoochun has been watching him for so long, he has no idea how to stop looking.
Changmin is beautiful when he’s in love, and he doesn’t even know. But Yoochun sees it all.
It hurts.
He looks at Changmin’s hand - too big - then looks down at his own. Cold. So cold, when the one warmth he wants exists in his imagination only.
But that’s okay.
Yoochun can still dream delusions into life. He can dream them. He can dream of their linked hands… dream of an embrace lost somewhere in unrelenting rain, of Changmin’s body pressed so close to his that everything cold in the world would melt in the span of a kiss, in the heat of feelings, in the shining burn of just a moment. Yoochun has all the space of his dreams to make feelings come true - that’s enough. More than enough. That’s infinite, and it doesn’t matter if Changmin never knows about the heart-stopping moments that Yoochun’s imagination effortlessly sketches and that fit so right they often feel truer than how reality turns out to be.
In front of him Changmin is back to rambling, and Yoochun only pays attention to his eyes. He wants that soft look to seep in so deep that nothing will ever hurt again. He doesn’t care that it’s not meant for him and suppresses the ache within his chest. He’s going to steal what he can’t have, that’s all. He’s going to dream what he can’t live. He found what he needed and wanted, and it doesn’t matter how he gets it as long as he has it.
It takes two for love to happen. It takes one for love to exist, and Yoochun found love that exists just through him. He likes how frail that feeling is, depending on him entirely. He likes how strong it is too - he thinks that even if the whole world were to vanish in rain, his heart would still find a way back to the one person that unknowingly and greedily claimed it all. So, no… no it’s not sad.
It’s just that everything could have been so perfect.
~
There goes one year of their lives. A full cycle, seasons taking turns and following their eternal round as people grow and change. The lines of Changmin’s existence don’t shift much.
There is his family, now back to a new balance, looking ahead. Junsu, whose days seem to last 50 hours with all the studying, socializing, gaming, soccer, parties and more he manages to cram in them. Yoochun’s unchanging life, his silences and his jokes, his counter in the convenient store, his crappy car and insane best friend, the same messy apartment and the same easy smile on his lips.
And Jungmi of course. Her laughter, how her voice calls his name, a first trip together, the way her body fits in his arms, sleepless nights spent talking, the sweetness of her kisses, how Changmin can’t remember how his life was before her. The indescribable taste of a first “I love you”.
One year without much change, only predicable choices, but that suits Changmin just fine. It’s safe, like a warm cocoon of habits wrapping all around him and ensuring that his existence from now on will always stay this way, familiar and cozy.
And then, one day, there’s a call in the middle of the night.
“Can you come?” he hears Yoochun ask as soon as he picks up.
It’s night and it’s quiet, save for Junsu’s soft snores coming from the room next door. Changmin’s phone feels heavy in his hand. His thoughts are still blurred, tangled in the remnants of a dream, but something about the situation feels strangely familiar. Like a reverse image.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he tries to place where that déjà-vu comes from.
Yoochun doesn’t say anything for a very long time.
Changmin is well awake now. Worried, too. His eyesight adjusted to the darkness and he can make out the familiar contours of the room - his desk, the door, the distinct shape of the window revealing the eerie orange glow from the streets’ neon lights. A glance at the alarm clock tells him it’s past 2am. His heart tightens and speeds up a little. Something isn’t normal.
“It’s okay, I just wanted to hear your voice” Yoochun says at last, his voice soft and strangely muffled.
Then he hangs up and Changmin slowly lowers his phone, staring at it without really seeing anything and wondering where the emptiness inside his chest comes from.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”
Yoochun vaguely registers Changmin’s indignant tone. Why didn’t he tell him… good question indeed, he muses, fiddling with the hem of an old T-shirt - his favorite, colorless, shapeless, and with a smell to it that a thousand trips to the washing machine wouldn’t manage to eradicate. Comfort clothes.
“I didn’t even tell Jaejoong” he provides, as if that would answer Changmin’s question, and ignores the protests and demands for explanations that follow.
Yoochun didn’t want Jaejoong to know, or Changmin, or anyone for that matter. It wasn’t their business. It is no one’s business if Yoochun’s life is falling apart again. It’s not like they’d understand anyway. Jaejoong never experienced anything like this, and Changmin… Changmin has too much willpower to relate. He just gets back on his feet and moves on, and Yoochun could never do that.
God he feels like crap.
He sniffs, grabbing a pillow near and clutching it to his chest, and tries to focus on Changmin’s voice again. He doesn’t know why he doubted the younger man would come. He was already convinced that Changmin had just ignored his call and gone back to sleep when the other arrived ten minutes ago. That makes him feel slightly bad, but nowadays their lives feel so different that sometimes he wondered if Changmin really cares. Really, really cares.
But judging by how upset Changmin sounds right now, Yoochun is a complete moron for having dared to question that.
“Just say something damnit!!”
Yoochun looks up when the volume of Changmin’s voice goes up several anxious notches. He takes notice of the young man’s bed hair and tired face. His eyes are still puffy with sleep, in spite of the glare currently aimed at Yoochun and making it plain that Changmin does indeed care and is also very, very unhappy. He put his sweater the other way round and Yoochun can see the tag sticking out from under the collar, just below Changmin’s chin. He focuses on that, the way it moves as the younger talks, a useless patch of white fabric with no meaning and nothing, nothing happened, nothing, it’s alright, it just-
“Yoochun…?!”
A hand grabs his arm. The cushion drops on the floor as Yoochun absently wipes away the tear that slipped out at the corner of his eye, wishing Changmin wouldn’t look so worried.
“I’m fine” he says.
There’s a silence. Changmin looks about to hit him, and Yoochun speaks again.
“…alright, I’m not fine at all.”
Just saying it and his throat tightens, and shit, he hasn’t felt so miserable in years. The sensation of failure that crashes down next makes him want to curl up on himself and cry his heart out until it all miraculously becomes right except that’s not going to change anything. He should’ve known anyway, there were countless signs the past year and given how much his parents have been fighting, divorce was the only solution left and now it will probably be easier, right?
Right…
“I mean, I’m really, really not fine” he adds hoarsely.
“I know.”
“I hate them.”
Yoochun knows he’s reacting like a four years old.
That’s ridiculous. He’s an adult now. Still, he had promised Yoowhan that it’d be alright - just last week he was still telling him surely it would get better, and when Yoowhan gave him a look and told him to stop doing this, Yoochun only stared back and wondered what that meant.
Changmin’s hand comes on top of his - a gentle touch, warm as always - and Yoochun notices then that his own hands are shaking. He tries to stop it but it’s not working. He managed not to waver for a year, he managed to hold on and hope but it was all in vain. Now it’s breaking apart all over again, nothing makes sense anymore and he still doesn’t know where the guilt comes from.
“What do you…” he starts and swallows hard, trying to steady his voice, “what did you say you do when you’re sad, Changmin?”
“I-“
“When it a-all… when everything just becomes n-nothing and you can’t-“
“Yoochun…”
Changmin’s fingers tighten around his hand and he lets the younger man pull him up to his feet. It feels a little like he’s dreaming and a little like he drank too much. Like reality isn’t as real as it should.
He follows Changmin out of the apartment, down the stairs, and in the street. Outside it’s dark and empty but the younger man is still holding his hand tightly. Yoochun can’t read the expression on his face - he isn’t trying either. There’s something so heavy on his heart that it’s making hard to breathe. His mother looked relieved, Yoowhan didn’t even cry, and in Yoochun’s mind, the image that keeps replaying is the one of his dad smiling awkwardly and “I think we should’ve done it earlier”. His heart twists painfully.
Yoochun hates himself for being like this.
He follows along when Changmin’s hand tugs him forward. He walks faster when Changmin’s pace quickens. He blindly holds onto his hand. He starts running when Changmin runs because that hand is all Yoochun has left right now, and he can’t let go of it. Faster… faster not to lose ground, faster not to fall behind and end up all alone, faster and faster, aimless and blind, at first only clinging onto Changmin’s fingers until it becomes hard.
Soon he’s out of breath. His lungs hurt. His legs hurt, he doesn’t know why they are running and where. He starts pulling on Changmin’s hand to make him stop but the younger man doesn’t slow down. He’s holding his hand in a vice-like grip and Yoochun has no choice but to follow, and faster, faster, he wants to stop, he can’t and something akin hopelessness is building up inside.
Street after street, places he doesn’t know, lights he doesn’t see. He hears his own labored breathing, hears the haphazard sound of his steps… running like a drunken man, without purpose and without strength. He feels ready to collapse yet Changmin mercilessly drags him forward and ignores it when Yoochun shouts for him to stop. Tired. Confused. Frustrated. So weak and he hates it, hates it, he needs to stop and he’s starting to feel angry.
He can’t breathe, can’t see, still forward, still running and it’s unfair, cruel- it’s not… it just… they promised and Yoochun feels played, cheated, like he’s been lied to and everyone knew but him and Yoowhan should have cried. His mother should’ve collapsed and his father apologized then it wouldn’t have been just him… just Yoochun with his stupid hopes and ridiculous promises, beliefs he held onto for so long and it was all fake and lies, lies, lies everywhere and before he knows it he’s running for real, his heart full and heavy, emotions raging painfully and seeking an outlet.
Faster now. Catching up, until he’s at the same level with Changmin. Faster to move ahead, to let it out whatever it takes and he doesn’t need air anymore, can’t feel his legs, his steps hammering the ground and blood pounding at his ears.
He doesn’t notice the moment Changmin lets go of his hand but suddenly Yoochun is flying.
Hurtling down an empty street, not knowing where he’s going and why and who cares anyway… who cares as long as something cracks and that bundle of fake hopes implodes and disintegrates, it’s okay if it hurts, it doesn’t matter anymore even as tears run down his face, even as Yoochun hears sobs but this time they aren’t Yoowhan’s. Wounded. Broken. Betrayed.
He trips and stumbles forward, about to lose his balance when hands grab him from behind and the next thing he knows, Yoochun is wrapped in Changmin’s arms, his face buried against the younger man’s shoulder.
The world is spinning and he clings onto him, clutching the other’s sweater. He’s trying to catch his breath, panting harshly and feeling Changmin’s chest fall and rise fast close to him. Yoochun can’t stop the tears. His entire body is shaking from the effort and pain, releasing months of cooped-up anguish. His legs soon give in and he ends up sitting on the floor, breathless and fighting tears even as Changmin’s arms are keeping him so close like to say it’s okay.
Yoochun wants to scream and hit him for having stupid ideas like this. He’s also hoping Changmin won’t let go, ever, and as awful as he feels right now, he can’t help but relish in the closeness.
Changmin isn’t doing much. He isn’t talking, he isn’t rubbing his back or threading his fingers through his hair soothingly or any of those things Jaejoong would do. It’s just an embrace, but Yoochun closes his eyes and finds he doesn’t want anything else. Changmin’s presence - his hands, his scent, his strength, reassuring and warm - it’s the only comfort he needs right now. He did great at keeping a distance but this time… just once…
He lets out a shaky sigh, and slowly, one after the other, the tears stop flowing - leaving only a slight burn at the corner of his eyes and wet cold lines down his cheeks. Changmin shifts a little, his arms moving higher on his back but not loosening their hold.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again very softly, his voice rising clear and steady against the silence of the night.
Yoochun moves his head higher on Changmin’s shoulder and takes one of the other’s hands in his own. Changmin lets him so he intertwines their fingers tight. He forbade himself to cross that kind of line but tonight the world has once again gone wrong, and he needs something right. He needs not to feel so alone.
“It’d have make it real…” he answers, his voice barely above a whisper, and for once the truth is the simplest answer. “I didn’t want it to be real.”
“You always run away.”
Yoochun lets out a bitter laugh.
“Can’t you be nice for once?”
“We could’ve talked about it” Changmin ignores him, sounding hurt, “we could… I don’t know, we could’ve done things together, to change your mind. It’d have been better.”
“It’d have changed nothing.”
“It’d have changed a lot.”
A silence.
“…It changed a lot for me.”
Yoochun swallows around the lump in his throat. He rubs his eyes with his free hand, the other still holding onto Changmin’s, and looks around for the first time. There are only silent houses and dark windows here… closed shops, a modern building across the street. A bus stop. On their left, spotlights uselessly orchestrating an empty crossroad.
“I hope you know where we are” Yoochun says “because I’ve no idea.”
“It’s going to be fine, you know” Changmin insists stubbornly, paying no heed to that poor attempt to change the subject.
“And you’ll have to carry me back home. I can’t see any taxi near.”
“It’s going to take some time, but it’ll all be fine.”
Yoochun frowns, not exactly wanting to hear that now.
“Don’t you know how to read the mood?”
“What I know is that you’re trying to run away again.”
He pulls away to see Changmin’s expression. The younger man looks dead serious of course, and indeed that’s why Yoochun didn’t want to tell him. Changmin would have made him face it. But that’s just not who Yoochun is.
“It’s not going to be fine” he says curtly. “I know it already. Spare yourself the trouble.”
“It will, eventually” Changmin retorts, unfazed. “Not now of course, but someday soon.”
“My parents got a divorce” Yoochun states bluntly “that won’t change. It’s over.”
“You still have them both.”
Changmin’s voice softened ever so slightly, ringing with rare but sincere compassion, and bearing an indistinct note of sadness that pierces right through Yoochun’s heart. He tenses.
“…you can’t compare” he argues despite himself, his voice wavering as he remembers empty pain in Changmin’s eyes and then tears - too many tears - and a pale smile passing on a tired faced, and how innocence had already withered there.
“I’m not comparing.”
Like on impulse, Changmin suddenly brings their linked hands to his lap. The move obliges Yoochun to shift closer, his arm twisted at an awkward angle, but he isn’t going to complain.
“I’m staying with you tonight” the young man announces resolutely, as if he expects him to argue “and we’re spending the week-end together. It’s been ages.”
“I thought you had some trip planned with Jungmi Saturday” Yoochun sniffs. God knows he heard him ramble about that one for hours on the phone.
“Oh…” Changmin pauses. “She’ll understand.”
Yoochun doubts it but doesn’t argue. Just thinking of having Changmin all to himself for two whole days and his heart already feels a little less heavy. He doesn’t mind if the younger man pesters him the entire time to stop wallowing in self-inflicted misery, face forward, move on, clean up your place, clean your clothes, clean yourself up while you’re at it and damn Yoochun, I can’t believe you’re 26, is that even edible and when was the last time you ate something else than instant noodles?
No, Yoochun doesn’t mind at all.
Of course he doesn’t mind either when Changmin starts rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. It’s definitely awkward but he knows Changmin isn’t one for hugs and touches. Changmin offers advices rather than comfort. He’d sooner give a dozen accurate definitions of “commiseration”, “sympathy” and the likes than actually give it a try. Changmin made both his sisters cry when he told them Santa did not exist and has yet to feel remorse about it, and Yoochun remembers he got kicked out of his high school’s theatre group because he always ended up laughing in the middle of the supposedly heart-wrenching parts.
For the first time that day, a small smile rises to his lips.
“Can you say it again?” Yoochun whispers softly, his eyes closing on their own will. The thick darkness of night is comforting now, when it felt so void just a moment before.
“Say what?”
“That it’ll be alright.”
Changmin moves closer, still not letting go of Yoochun’s hand. It’s starting to get cold, yet starting to get warm. It’s starting to feel like one of those scenes Yoochun usually dreams.
“It’ll be alright” the young man says in a very low voice, “you’ll see”.
Changmin doesn’t lie, never.
A few late tears escape and run down Yoochun’s face - a few more tears that don’t exactly hurt, disillusioned and worn. It was hard, clinging onto a breaking hope. Yoochun lets go now because he couldn’t do it earlier, he had to wait until the very last minute, until the last door closed.
Yoochun thinks you don’t decide of what happens in life.
He’s also convinced that for as long as someone will believe in something, no matter how farfetched, no matter how unlikely, there’ll be a chance for it to come true. He’d rather keep all doors open - even if beyond lays only emptiness, and even if they let darkness come in - than take the risk of closing one. He wants to be that person giving a chance to every future, and believing in what no one else would trust.
So he dreams. Foolishly, fiercely, Yoochun dreams, and learns nothing.
Part 7.
Note: Yoochun I'm sorry, sincerely >< (I swear it's all going to get better though). The angst ride is starting for real, please bear with me (them), I just had to.. ^^;;
Hope you'll like this chapter anyway, and a good week-end to everyone! :)