GREETINGS ALL!

When I said I would write something in the mean-time because DMT_07 is taking too long... I didn't mean this. When I said to mimei-senpai last night that I would write her a YooSu drabble, I didn't plan on writing almost 3,000 words. >:( I blame it on the deeply plot-implied prompt of Angel!Su. I mean, it's Angel!Su, it's not my FAULT!

Anyway, Fic:

Title: Who You Choose To Be
Author: Page Russet (page_r)
Fandom: DBSK/TVXQ
Pairing: Yoochun/Junsu
Words: 2,763
Rating: R
Prompt: From mimei. (artistic licence applied to use of said prompts) angelsu, falling hurts, poet sun, warrior moon, fate, copies of copies of copies, hunger, hunger, hunger.
ETA: Forgot to say thanks to mimei for beta of the second half. THANKS, precious! *hugsies*


--


Things Junsu Has Learnt:

1.
Singing can be Heavenly

Junsu sings. Because singing is all he can give of himself. He sings, because it’s the only thing he is allowed to let out.

He dances because the music got under his skin. It sent ripples through him like secret messages from the poet sun.

He smiles because he has friends who he loves loves loves.

They’re rehearsing the dance steps for a live performance of Mirotic and the rhythm is slamming through the air. Had been for hours on repeat. He pushes his muscles – still foreign to him after all these years – feels them curl and heave to the beat. Feels heat rush in the air, resistance and nothing. Pull and release. Feels the spaces between him and his brothers twist and whisper.

The steps are slightly different to work with the stage they’ll be on and the subtle changes are confusing; they’re still a long way from perfect and a missed step sends one of the backup dancers crashing straight into him. He falls hard, a half-formed thought getting him as far as taking the weight off his legs – can’t dance on twisted ankles or knees – even rolling into it, one arm takes the brunt of the fall and he cries out in pain.

“Hold!” The choreographer calls a stop.

“Junsu?” Jaejoong is there first. “Are you alright?”

Junsu lets out a careful breath. “I think so.”

The back-up dancer is apologising rapidly. Junsu blinks slowly, the words making little sense as pain radiates up his arm, “I think it’s just bruised,” he says.

Jae raises his eyebrows at the pained tone to Junsu’s voice, by then the rest of the group has gathered. “Are you sure, Junsu?” Changmin asks, one hand pressing against Junsu’s back.

Yunho looks up at the choreographer and director, “Can we call a break? I think he’ll need some ice to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

Junsu smiles – carefully chosen words. No ice to make Junsu feel better, ice to make sure Junsu can continue to be pushed to the limit. Sometimes he can’t help but laugh at these people.

“I think we’ve probably done enough for today anyway, Yunho.” Junsu manages to catch the gist of the stage-director’s words, “You guys can go home. And make sure that arm is better by the time we start tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Yunho replies.

On the way out to the car, Yunho leans over, “You’re certain it’s just a bruise? We need to get it x-rayed sooner rather than later if it’s worse.”

“It’s fine,” Junsu says, leaning further into the protective embraces of Jaejoong and Changmin, “It’s already feeling better. But thank you.”

They both know what the thank you is for.

2.
The people who you love best are the ones you don’t have to explain everything to


~..*..~


Yoochun is hungry, but that’s not news. He ate a riceball somewhere around lunchtime so that he wouldn’t faint while they worked on the video, but now they’re home and he takes vicious delight at coating his insides with tea, fooling the aching emptiness into thinking he is taking care of it. He walks out of the kitchen, away from the fridge and its offerings, enjoying the rush of success at his backwards self-control and ignoring what it really means.

He nudges open the door to the bathroom with one elbow. The lights are out, moonlight spilling in through the open window. Junsu is sitting on the low sill, white light giving him an unearthly tinge. Yoochun silently hands him the extra tea he’d carried in.

Yoochun privately suspects this apartment was chosen, and possibly designed, by a secretly obsessive perv-fan. The only window in the house which opens fully – and one of the biggest – is the one in the bathroom. Junsu had quickly discovered that it provided the best spot to sit and watch the full moon.

Yoochun turns his head so he can watch how the moonlight sparkles over the pure white wings which flow from Junsu’s back; swaying softly with the wind and the movement of Junsu’s breaths.

“How’s the arm?”

“It hurts. But it’ll be better by morning.”

Yoochun nods. Junsu rarely stays injured for long, especially when he doesn’t want to.

“I forget how much things hurt, sometimes.”

Yoochun turns to meet Junsu’s eyes, there’s a fierce sparkle there, like shining diamonds, that Yoochun always associates with Junsu’s eyes alone. The words are stark in the echoing room (the best room for vocal-training in the house), rich with an often-unspoken topic. “Do you?” Yoochun asks. “I don’t remember ever not being in pain.”

Junsu frowns. The expression looks out of place on his face. He seems to remember the tea, and takes a long sip.

“Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect, Yoochun?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “A butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil, sets off a tornado in Texas.”

Junsu looks up at the sky. In the city, only a few stars shine through, but the glitter in his eyes seem to reflect the entire galaxy. “But what happens if there is no butterfly?”

Yoochun frowns, “No bad weather?”

Junsu looks back at Yoochun, “There is a time and a place for all things- Yoochun,” his voice skipping as though he wanted to add more before Yoochun’s name. “Even tornadoes.”

Yoochun has a strange feeling that this conversation is not one he wants to be having. “What does that mean?”

Junsu reaches out to brush the longest part of Yoochun’s hair behind his ear. “It means I’m almost done here.” In the silver light, Yoochun could swear he sees one of the bruises on Junsu’s arm fade and disappear. He feels a cup thump into his free hand – he looks down and when he looks up again, Junsu is all innocent smiles and human skin again, “It means I want you to go and eat the dinner Jaejoong made for you. Don’t do it for you, do it for me, please.”

Yoochun sighs and lets his eyes track to the side. Junsu’s wings are tucked tight to his body the way they go when he is trying to hide how he feels. Junsu frowns and looks behind himself, “What are you looking at?” he asks.

Yoochun smiles, “Nothing.” The mirror behind them reflects the reversed-truth. Ordinary, wingless, human Junsu beside ordinary fucked-in-the-head Yoochun.

“Food, Yoochun. Now.”

Yoochun gives up and heads out towards the kitchen. It’s not like he’s ever able to refuse requests from his own, personal, angel on earth anyway.


~..*..~


Jaejoong finds Yoochun the kitchen, leaning over the counter and chewing slowly.

“You’re eating!”

“Junsu made me.”

“Do you think he fell on his arm just so you’d feel so sorry for him you’d eat dinner?”

Yoochun can’t help the small smile. “Who’d be the most fucked up then?”

“Do we get prizes?”

“For the winner?”

“Yeah.”

“What prize do you want, Joongie?”

“A day off?”

Yoochun laughs, “You can have one in the hospital.”

“That completely doesn’t count. How about all the losers have to give up a vice of the winner’s choosing?”

Yoochun sucks up a noodle and looks down at the bowl. It doesn’t seem any emptier. “Harsh.”

“Are you disrespecting my food, Chunnie?”

“Never.”

Jaejoong sighs and rubs a hand across the back of Yoochun’s neck. “Has Junsu gone to bed?”

“I think he’s on his way now.”

“I’ll go say goodnight.”

Yoochun just nods and keeps staring at nothing. He remembers when he first met Junsu, the sheer shock of seeing a young boy walk into the room with wings a white so pure it was like a completely new colour, casually drifting from his back.

No one else had noticed. No one else had commented. Yoochun had been so new and freaked out by everything he kept his mouth shut to wait and see what the story was. Turns out there was no story. No one else saw the wings. Yoochun never once had said anything to anyone about them. He just figured he had some personal crazy attached to the kid who could sing like an angel. Ha.

And now Junsu has a sadness about him which shimmers through the room like rain.

Yoochun stares down at his food like it will reveal the secrets of the universe.

The universe says: eat your dinner before it gets cold. Surprisingly.


~..*..~


Things Junsu Has Learnt:

3.
Love has its downsides

They’re up at the crack of dawn again, the other guys ask after Junsu’s arm but he shows them the fading bruises and assures them it barely hurts.

Yoochun looks at him strangely and plasters himself to Junsu’s side the whole car-ride to the studio. Junsu slips his hand into Yoochun’s and tries not to squeeze too hard.

He’d thought this would be easier. He can smell Yoochun’s shampoo and the strong deodorant he uses to try and cover up the scent of smoke.

He never thought he’d fall like this.


~..*..~


They’re on break in the dance rehearsal room when it happens. A clap of lightening behind Junsu’s eyes and a noise like something breaking in his mind. He gasps and throws his head back, barely feeling the thud of his head meeting the mirror-coated wall behind him.

The others are distracted, but Yoochun immediately leans over. “Junsu?”

“That’s it,” Junsu whispers. “Game over.”

Junsu feels a hand grasp on his shoulder, when he turns Yoochun has a tightness and fear around his eyes that Junsu usually only sees when they’re talking about Yoochun’s family, or once when they discussed separating the band between Japan and Korea for a long bout of promotions.

“Junsu, Yoochun,” Changmin calls, “we’re going to go get food, c’mon.”

“In a minute,” Yoochun says back, not taking his eyes off Junsu.

Once the room his empty Yoochun says softly, fiercely, “What are you talking about, Junsu?”

Junsu slips away and stands up, he can’t lie to Yoochun’s face like this. “It’s nothing. I was just babbling to myself.”

He can still feel the leftovers of the music in the room, sliding about the walls, echoes of echoes trembling in the air.

He knows it will break this band when he leaves.

“Don’t lie to me!”

Junsu jumps and turns, startled by Yoochun’s rarely raised voice. “Yoochun-”

Yoochun marches over, stepping around one wing to grab both of Junsu’s biceps and shake him.

Junsu stares down at the hands on his arms. He always does that, he thinks, he always steps around my wings. As if he can see-

“Junsu, I know something is going on. Please tell me what’s happening.”

Junsu looks up at him. He loves that stupid haircut, so much.

God has never been one for zero interference. What parent is ever able to stay out of their child’s lives? But the one rule is free-will. God’s greatest and most horrific gift. Everyone gets the right to choose.

The one thing God will do, when the circumstances are right, is try and give people better choices.

Junsu honestly has no idea who this mission was supposed to effect. It could be as simple as preventing a suicide, as massive as stopping one person from beginning a war. All he knew is that he was supposed to be in a specific band, with specific guys, help bring them to success, and help them stay alive and well.

But there was the problem. Before this, he’d never realised how alive humans could be. Even when for them the world is a flat and voiceless place. He hadn’t expected to find that they yearn for the song of the universe just as much as he would if his senses were stoppered. How they catch the edges of it and embrace it like all they want to do is dance with it till the end of time.

And then, and then there’s Yoochun.

Yoochun, who, to Junsu, glows like a significant star netted to earth.

“Yoochun, I- I can’t.”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Yoochun says.

4.
Pain can be more than just physical


~..*..~


“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Yoochun says. He watches as Junsu’s eyes widen. His wings are flared out behind him, stroking the air in agitation. The white is so blinding that the edges between each feather blur into an almost seamless whole. Never before has Junsu come this close to speaking about Yoochun’s personal delusion. Neither has Yoochun.

Junsu’s eyes are heartsick. “Mission’s over,” he says.

The words are a strike from the warrior moon herself. “No,” Yoochun says, shaking Junsu. “No it’s not.”

“Yoochun, I can’t talk to you about this. You don’t understand.”

Junsu is trying to be kind. Ha.

“Don’t I?”

Then Yoochun does something he promised himself he would never do – so that he wouldn’t get sent to the loony bin, but more... in case the illusion vanished.

He reaches out and touches Junsu’s wing.

He hears Junsu’s gasp, but he’s too busy being amazed. The illusion hasn’t vanished. The wings are like silk. Softly warm to the touch. He doesn’t know why, but he’d expected them to be cool.

“Yoochun?”

He looks up. Junsu looks frightened. “How do you-?”

“I can see them,” Yoochun whispers.

“Since when?”

“Always.”

Junsu’s breaths are hitching in the air; he looks around as if thinking about running away, Yoochun grabs his chin to turn him back. “Junsu, you can’t leave us.”

“I have to. The mission’s over.”

Stupid mission! We’re family! Yoochun wants to scream, but he keeps his voice soft. “Is that the rules?”

Junsu shakes his head but says, “That’s how it’s done.”

Right now Yoochun has nothing to lose. Nothing at all. So he breaks another promise. He leans over and presses his lips to Junsu’s.

He feels Junsu suck in a breath and then, amazingly, sink into him, arms coming up to curl around Yoochun’s body. The kiss goes on longer than expected. Both of them getting distracted by lust. When Yoochun’s hands stray up to where Junsu’s wings join his back, Junsu gasps and wrenches away, his lower half thrusting into Yoochun. Yoochun is dazed with it, brain scrambling to come up with a way to get them out of the studio and to a bed as fast as possible. Apparently today is a day for miracles.

“Yoochun,” Junsu says.

Yoochun meets his eyes, can’t help the rush which spreads through him at the blown-pupils and flushed lips which accent Junsu’s face. He places a possessive hand on Junsu’s hip, pulling him closer together. They both groan as their cocks brush.

“Yoochun, this doesn’t-”

“Yes, it does,” Yoochun interrupts. “It changes everything.”

Junsu lets out a breath and leans his head on Yoochun’s shoulder.

Finally, all Yoochun has left is, “Don’t do it for you, do it for me. And Yunho and Jaejoong and Changmin. Stay, please.”

Junsu’s hand clutches at Yoochun’s t-shirt. Yoochun’s heart is pounding so hard he barely hears Junsu’s whisper against his neck, “Okay.”

Heart in his throat, Yoochun tugs Junsu’s head back up, covering his face with kisses until Junsu is laughing and crying all at once. A sudden unpleasant thought makes Yoochun pause, “This wont – won’t make you like... Fall, will it?”

Junsu looks offended, “No! Falling is for a little worse than this, thank you very much!”

Relieved, Yoochun can’t help the leer, “Not even if I fuck you into next week?”

Junsu blushes and punches him in the arm, “Not that your chances are very good right now, but no.”

Yoochun smiles and runs one finger around the base of Junsu’s wing. Junsu’s eyes flutter closed and he lets out a tiny moan.

“I don’t know,” Yoochun says, “I kinda like my chances.”

Junsu opens his eyes and they are filled with stars. His voice shimmers through the room, “Yeah, but you’ve never fucked an angel. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Yoochun’s breath gets stuck half-way up. “Feel free to use and abuse.”

Junsu’s lips quirk, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jaejoong’s voice is ringing out down the hall, “You guys better hurry up! I don’t want to kick anybody’s ass for not eating, again. Practice starts in 10 minutes!”

They both start apart and, still blushing, head for the door.


~..*..~


Just before they leave the room, Junsu grabs Yoochun’s hand, smiling for the whole world to see, “Yoochun.” Yoochun looks back. “Thank you,” he says

Yoochun’s hand tightens in his.

5.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven [Ecclesiastes 3:1]


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THE END! (unless mimei writes some more. Make her!)