Words: 1 330
Genre: ur... angst? Fluff?
Summary: It's hard to bring yourself back together when you can't find the pieces.
A/N: For kahel_luna, who told me to 'let him cry'. I'M SORRY. IT'S MADE OF FAIL. It was meant to be poignant and all that but... I fail. D: ... have a bunny?
( . .)
Merry Christmas, Meli!
... I'm going to keep posting that even though it's after Christmas so I can pretend like I actually made the deadline. ^^;
Sometimes, little pieces of him break off. Flakes of who he is, crumbling away.
At first it hurts, hurts so badly. Then, gradually, he gets used to it. Each piece hurts less and less until he’s not sure there’s enough of him left to feel anything but the numbness. He’s propelled ever onwards, leaving behind all the parts of him which can’t survive in the face of everything he has to be. Strong, for the members. Steady, for the company. Charming, for the fans.
Part of him mourns for these lost parts, withers in the face of what he’s become, feeling soulless and plastic. The rest of him ploughs on, part of the unstoppable machine that is Dong Bang Shin Ki. He can’t stop to think too much about it, or pause to reconcile himself, because otherwise… otherwise he knows he’ll just break.
There’s not much left holding him together, strings of faith and hope stretched taught and straining. If they snap… well, he’s not sure what will happen. When he has a moment to breathe, he breathes slowly, cautiously, and then turns back to the work that must be done.
And sometimes, it’s worth it. Sometimes, when he sees the joy of fans faces. Sometimes, when he gets rare praises from their taciturn manager, or their no-nonsense choreographer. More often though, it's the glimmers of hope and happiness that shine through from his members.
One day though, a string of faith gets stretched too thin, a string of hope gets caught somewhere, and it all comes crashing down. He’s not even sure what triggered it, or if it was actually something in particular or just everything in general.
He manages, somehow, to just hold on for a few hours though, wait til everyone goes to sleep, exhausted from the day. Then, he creeps out to the sofa, puts his head on one of the pillows… and breaks.
He cant breathe, the pillow becoming wet under his tears and saliva as he struggles against it, struggles against himself. He can’t breathe, and his shoulders shake, his muscles spasming and toes curling. He can’t breathe.
And then gentle hands are lifting the pillow away, and his head is placed on a warm lap, equally warm hands running down his arm to tangle with his fingers. Hands that are real and solid and caring and suddenly he can breathe but breathing means sobbing, means the pain in his body and mind come roaring forth. His head spins with it, his emotions haywire as he feels fear and hate and exhaustion and anger and impatience and annoyance and above it all a huge wave of helplessness. He feels lost, so very lost, and grips the hand in his so tightly, as if he might drift away if he lets go.
It’s taken a long time, but Yunho finally realises he can’t figure out who he is anymore. Can’t figure out what he’s doing, or why. And it petrifies him.
Jaejoong just lets him cry, holding his hand tightly and combing the other through his hair. The older boy doesn't say anything, but he doesen't have to. Yunho’s glad, because words won’t make him whole again – they can’t encompass what he’s feeling, nor make it all better. But Jaejoong does. Just by being there, unconditionally. By watching him break and then helping to collect the pieces to pull back together again.
When the tears stop, Jaejoong wipes them away with his thumbs, giving Yunho a solemn look as he kisses each eyebrow and then places a soft kiss on his lips. He lets him lay there, holding Jaejoong desperately and sheltering in his love for a while. Eventually, like icebergs forming, his heart calms, and his muscles sag, and Yunho feels completely drained. Drained of the overwhelming emotions; drained and empty. He’d like to just huddle there forever, safe and hidden. But Jaejoong has always lent only support and love, never a shield or a crutch.
“Come.” Jaejoong says after they sit silently for some time more. He stands, making Yunho do so too, and pulls both their jackets from the cupboard, nudging Yunho into his shoes and wrapping a scarf around his neck.
A cab picks them up from the back of the apartments, and they drive through the silent streets of Seoul. Jaejoong’s shoulder lightly presses into Yunho’s in the back of the car, weight reassuring and continuous. Yunho just breathes, looking out the window.
The studios are dark and mostly empty. Only a few every studious, or perhaps more likely, desperate, trainees remain, going over endless steps and scales. Jaejoong pays for the cab, and leads Yunho up to their own studio, flicking on the lights. He kisses Yunho again, all too fleetingly really, and Yunho wants to grab him and hold him and just bury into him, seeking love and shelter from the battering of the world. But Jaejoong is moving away again before he can try and then music fills the room.
Sliding to the floor beside the stereo, Jaejoong looks up at him.
“Dance for me, Yunho.” The rest needs not be spoken. Dance for me. Not for the fans, for the company, for the band. Just for Jaejoong. And after a pause, wondering if his aching body can do this, Yunho dances.
It’s not scripted, not choreographed, not even a song he knows. It’s not for a camera or a show, not for a stadium full of screaming fans, not for their manager, not for their choreographer.
It’s for Jaejoong, and for the music and for the dance. And as the music moves on, Yunho letting the beat and the rhythm move through him, he finds it coming back to him. He feels the joy of movement, the way the performance, his art, comes to life for himself and his audience. He sees the gleam in Jaejoong’s eyes, the rapt attention of his gaze and revels in his attention. He puts on a show, lets himself go, and he finds his reason again.
After that, he’s just dancing for the hell of it. He’s done what Jaejoong brought him here to do, to realize, and now it’s time to actual take pleasure in the feeling of dancing. Dancing was all he ever wanted to do. Even when his parents said ‘law’, when the world said ‘impossible’, when his body gave out and said ‘no more’. It filled him, breathed life into him, made him who he was. And, as he open his eyes to look outside himself, he knew that it was Jaejoong who made him more then he was. That his dancing, his singing only really came to life when it found it’s way into the heart of another person and really touched them. That his fans, his managers, his members made him push through ‘impossible’, ignore the ‘no more’ and do what he loved.
Eventually though, even euphoria is beaten over by exhaustion, and Yunho’s body demands rest. His movements wind down and he sinks to the floor. The music cuts off, and Jaejoong crawls over the floor to him. He’s sweaty, exhausted and aching, but he feels alive again. Feels guided and ready to go on. And, sticking the final piece of him back together again, Jaejoong wraps his arms around Yunho and tucks their bodies together.
Yunho lets his head drop onto Jaejoong’s, kissing the somewhat brittle hair.
“Thank you.” He says, and means it. Jaejoong nuzzles his shoulder and squeezes his hip. He doesn’t say sorry, because he’s not sure he is. Maybe he needs to break, to be brought back and be reborn again.
Jaejoong just humms in reply, sticking his nose into Yunho’s throat. The little noise holds all the words in the world however, and Yunho wonders if maybe Jaejoong hasn’t put him back together with some little pieces of Jaejoong to fill in the gaps.
He smiles at the thought. Those are the pieces that he’ll rely on later - the pieces that will help hold him together.