Title: Pilfering Brushworks
Pairing: Jaejoong-centric, Jaejoong/Yunho
Length: One-shot, ~900w.
Summary: Jaejoong walks through the house, leaves behind nothing and steals with him a photo of everything --innocence, beauty, wisdom, love.
Disclaimer: See profile.
Rant: Just a short ramble/fic so I don't get rusty later on. Also for de-stressing because you know, uni. Self-prompted with 'こっち向いて'
For: Sheryl/u_knowiloveyou as a sort of hello!gift since not everyone can skip the handshakes to the 'honeymoon' :D and I would like to believe innocence, beauty, wisdom and love applies to you too :) And for people who needs to de-stress?
I've never been so happy to see a photograph of me
then when graced with your company.
You're making a small change to the way
that you wear your heart.
I like it better...I like it... I like it better now
Jaejoong captures innocence like no one else does.
He finds Junsu in the kitchen at nine in the morning, one hand stuck inside a cookie jar and one hand abusing the buttons on his psp. He finds his heart stopping, the scene before him catching him like a brand new recipe does for a chef. Junsu quirks an eyebrow at him and tilts his head to the right, half a cookie hanging out from his mouth as he does, and hums a ‘good morning’ behind a mouthful of crumbs. It doesn’t take longer than one second for his attention to shift back to his game and Jaejoong watches him breathe in suspense and breathe out pride all at once. The reflecting sunlight streams in from the glass panes, drapes over the shadows of tree branches like silk on skin, and carves intricate guidelines along the lines of Junsu’s face. Jaejoong thinks, if nature is a paintbrush, then right now, it’s decorating the finishing touches of this still life portrait.
The moment breaks; glass on tiles, and he smiles, pride subtly brushing his lips as he does--much like the way Junsu does his victory dance around the dining table. He doesn’t let the moment slip through his fingers; a halo of youth.
Jaejoong captures beauty like no one else does.
It is the twenty-fifth time that day Yoochun has been playing the same verse over and over again, his mind clouding with chagrin --if the broken lyrics and raw beats jumping out from the sheets littering the floor are any indication of such. He hasn’t stopped since lunchtime and no one bothers to ask him to. Junsu passes by at three in the afternoon, whisking away a music sheet in his venture and Yoochun tackles him out the front door in his chase where squabbling and shrieking ensues. In the end, music sheet safely in hand, Yoochun finds his place back at the piano, like the heart knows it’s way home; rejuvenated (as if Junsu’s attack is the missing note in the staff). His fingertips play longing into Jaejoong’s hands, and the wrong note recreates beauty in his ears.
Yoochun stops, stills for a second, then starts from the top again; a web of entrancement. Jaejoong wants this moment more than anything else right now, so he takes it, and doesn’t give it back. Yoochun is an art he’ll never understand, but then again, beauty is always misunderstood.
Not that Jaejoong understands the art of hiding secrets in his hands like Yoochun does anyway.
Jaejoong captures wisdom like no one else does.
He wanders stealthily into the study, each step a chord of classical calm. It’s the second essay Changmin has been poring over since the break of dawn, and it’s the ninth encyclopaedia he has torn off the bookshelf. The laptop screen glares disjointed phrases and the scrap pieces of papers dust the tabletop of the study like dry, brown leaves on a windy autumn’s day; Jaejoong thinks Changmin looks just as windswept. Is it hard, he asks. Changmin doesn’t look up at him when he replies, no question is too difficult to answer, he says, as if riddles are the puzzles Jaejoong is missing in his life; nothing is too hard to understand. He pens down scribbles that speak both incoherency and knowledge at the same time.
Jaejoong can’t read anything Changmin writes down, but he picks up a piece of scrap and folds an origami boat, fills it with understanding and leaves the room –-stealing with him, a picture of wisdom.
Jaejoong captures love like no one else does.
Yunho has been quiet all day, Jaejoong notes, head poking around the corner of the wall. He sits on the couch by the window, eyes closed and earphones in place. He taps an inconsistent tune on the arm of the couch and Jaejoong finds unpolished lyrics dancing in his mind to the beat. The dim rays of the setting sun shines in from the window behind him and plays through the strands of Yunho’s hair like strings on a violin. The light casts an orange glow across half the room and stains with it footprints of tranquility. It’s beautiful, Jaejoong thinks and he steals this moment as well, greedy as he is, like stealing the last cookie in the jar, guilt-free.
The flash startles the ipod out of Yunho’s hands before Jaejoong’s rich laughter resounds throughout the living room. A cheeky glint of the eye is all Jaejoong gives Yunho before he dashes down the hall with Yunho hot on his heels, cursing none-too-softly. He pretends to trip over a non-existent step and breathes victory when Yunho’s arms find their way around his waist. ‘I win’, he croons, reaches up and pecks Yunho’s lips before prancing off, successfully robbing away with him a heart on a string. It’s all his now.
The clock on the wall chimes six in the evening and the Dong Bang Shin Ki household finds Changmin’s yells of ‘shut up’ drowning in the sound of running feet of the two eldest; Yoochun’s laughs, which echoes beautifully around Junsu’s distinct shrieks, and unmistakable sounds of the flapping of pillows on people.
Yunho’s ipod sits forgotten on the carpeted, living room floor --a love song on repeat.
A/N: I've been getting rusty. Actually, I was never not rusty but that's not the point ;; If you've read this, thank you. If you comment, I'm deeply touched. There's no story behind this, just random burst of stress that led me feeling alskdj and of course, rl matters.