코니 (konnistique) wrote in edgeofspring,
코니
konnistique
edgeofspring

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[drabble] Twelve hours ago, and twelve love later

Title: Twelve hours ago, and twelve love later
Author: konnistique
Length: 12 x <500 (Total approx. 3 464)
Pairing: Yunjae/Jaeho | i broke yoosu
Rating: PG
Summary: Jaejoong and Yunho.... falling in love, over and over, twelve times.
Genre: AU-ish, angst, drama, romance, fluff... more of the latter ;;
Notes: Drabbles! Twelve of them. Written for lavenie_2619 's birthday and blinkable because she's awesome even though I threw this at her to beta. I dedicate vii. to you!

(blue italics are lyrics/prompts I used ;;)
eta: I forgot to say the drabbles are unrelated to each other :|
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happy birthday Dee~! ilu and ♥





i.

But you think I'm not as cool,
As you are so beautiful
Well who’re you fooling?




Yunho scrutinizes the way Jaejoong has Junsu on the floor and pillows in his face, screaming for mercy. He watches the way Jaejoong arches his back a few inches to the right as he laughs, letting his hair fall directly into the line of sunlight streaming in from the living room window. He watches the light find Jaejoong and he watches the way the light seems to bring out all the best features of him. He watches Jaejoong shine.


The pillows fly as Junsu throws Jaejoong on his back and tickles him. Jaejoong throws his head back and laughs openly, pearly teeth showing, and Yunho ponders over the way the sun is reflected in his eyes. He watches them sparkle in mirth as he catches the glance thrown his way.


And the moment he looks away, Yunho thinks—no, he knows.


It’s not the light that finds Jaejoong. It has always been Jaejoong who searches out for the spotlight.









ii.

Picking up the pieces of a dream I once had,
I'll keep running down the path I believe in




You cling desperately onto whatever little fragments of happiness he has given you. You ignore the fact that it might not be enough. You let the relationship go, no strings attached. You will give back anything he asks for, but not his heart. No, never his heart.


Give me enough sorrows to make me human.


You hit the restart button, repeatedly, continuously. After all, it was just a game, right from the beginning, wasn’t it? It’s just a game, Jaejoong. It’s not fun unless you play it with your heart, my love. So why wasn’t the game restarting? He didn’t say you can only play the game once.


Give me enough trials to make me strong.


You cover your ears in hopes that if you don’t hear him say it, you can continue to believe he didn’t say it. Because he didn’t say he doesn’t love you anymore. But you’re scared that perhaps, maybe…


Give me enough hopes to make me happy.









iii.

That time, I suddenly opened the door
And an angel came swooping down




You knew you shouldn’t have opened the door that day. You were tired, you had a hangover, you were frustrated and it was 6am in the morning—early. Too damn early for anyone to be going around ringing doorbells and it was a Sunday. Everyone knew Sundays were a day of sleep, sleep, moping and more sleep. But no, whoever it was, on the other side of your door, was persistent. You half-expected it to be your neighbour coming to tell you that your house was on fir—


“Hello and good morning! My name’s Jaejoong! Lovely weather isn’t it? Did I wake you, because I have been ringing your doorbell for 5 minutes already and I’m terribly sorry but this is for a good cau—”


You blamed your half-asleep state for all the staring you were doing, because you most certainly did not stare at someone—especially at a man—and thought you were still asleep and dreaming. Yeah, you must be dreaming all this because your head was beginning to feel light. Or maybe it was the sun…


“—and I’m selling sugar-free candy, the soft and chewy type, and I was wondering if you would be so generous enough as to buy some? They’re at a really reasonable price as well—only $2.99 a packet—and all donations go to the—”


And it was most definitely the hangover playing tricks on your brain because you were positively not about to open your mouth and ask the seller whether he had dropped down from heaven onto your doorstep and… was trying to sell you some candy. No, of course not…


“—so would you? Please? …hey, hello there, are you feeling okay? You look a bit pale.” He reached a hand out and placed it on your forehead. “Oh no, you’re burning up! You must lie down! I’ll get you some water, where’s your kitchen and—”



…because you know angels aren’t supposed to be real, are they?









iv.

I can’t change the future and habits that I don’t know of,
I can’t abandon them either.




You sneak hand-in-hand out of the recording room—you trying to bite down your grin and him trying to fight back giggles behind the hand over his mouth. He tugs on your arm and you, having spotted one of the staff heading your way as well, throws him into the shadowed alcove and dash in after him. He opens his mouth and you quickly slap your hand over it, the other holding one finger in front of your lips.


You both wait with baited breaths as the staff yells your names, spinning back and front in search of you two. You wait in silence and try to ignore both his hands slapped over yours—which was still covering his mouth—in a futile attempt to suppress his muffled laughter; try to ignore the way his eyes twinkle as if telling you he knows something you don’t—something the world doesn’t—despite the shadows.


When the staff disappears around the corner, you tug him out of the alcove and together, you dash for stairs, one hand throwing open the fire exit and one hand gripping his in yours like a lifeline. As the bright summer sun hits your eyes and you vaguely notice his hand slipping from your grasp in favour of throwing them in the air as if trying to embrace the sun’s rays, you know you both will be getting in trouble for this later. But for now, for even just one second, you want to take the present with a pinch of salt and treat it as a gift.









v.

Friday night, the blue shock that races through your heart
Friday night, is proof of yourself




“Ooh… look at what we’ve got here.”


Jaejoong spared the speaker a short glare before downing his seventh shot of Cold Virgin. He slammed the empty glass on the bar and wiped the back of his hand across his lips, still glaring.


“The encyclopaedia out of the library on a Friday night… and at a bar no less! Just what has the world come to?”


“Mock me one more time Jung Yunho and this,” he gestured to the empty glass bottle on his right, “goes right over your pretty little head before you can tell me the capital of Sierra Leone.”


“…where?”


Jaejoong glared again and signalled the bartender for an eighth shot. He eyed the other for a moment while he waited; taking in the amount of leather the other was wearing, his hair styled neatly, eyes glinting mischievously under the bright neon lights of the club, and in his hands was a glass of…


“Wet Kiss? You actually like the taste of that?” Jaejoong thanked the bartender and turned back to the intruder of his private drinking session (aka. The-world-can-go-screw-itself-while-I-drown-my-sorrows-in-alcohol session.) He watched the other raised an eyebrow and looked at him from head to toe and back. Jaejoong stiffened and glared defensively back.


Yunho smirked and advanced upon him slowly, almost predatorily. “You know Princess, I think you’d enjoy the taste of a Wet Kiss,” he leaned in closer, clearly invading Jaejoong’s personal space, and breathed into his ear, “…rather than a Cold Virgin.”


For a minute, Jaejoong thought Yunho was going to kiss him, but then he realized he was only toying with him. He narrowed his eyes. Well, two can play this game. He grabbed Yunho by the collar and threw him against the wall, slamming a hand beside his head, “Well, why don’t you explain to me just how delicious Wet Kisses are.”









vi.

These times make me anxious
I want to abandon everything




Yunho picked up his wine glass from the table and glanced across at his dinner companion. He had been quiet throughout the entrée and entire main course, and the silence would have been too much for Yunho to handle had there not been the mindless chatter of the patrons in the restaurant around them. He’d tried many times to strike a conversation, but the words all died in his throat before he could voice them.


“…I don’t ever want to become like Yoochun and Junsu.”


Yunho started at the sudden break in the spell of silence and fumbled for his wine glass which had slipped from his grasp, fortunately, not spilling its contents—good thing too, because red wine doesn’t look pretty against white shirts. “Wh-what?”


“I said I don’t ever want to be like them.” He watched his companion destroyed the banana split dessert with his fork.


“You mean…” Yunho placed the glass carefully back onto the table, “how they broke up?”


The fork stabbed into the ice cream again, “How… one day they just fell out of love with each other.” He sighed and glanced up at him with a strangely determined look, “That’s why I don’t ever want to start a relationship with someone even if I fall in love with them.”


Yunho faltered a little and traced the patterns of the tablecloth with his finger, “But you know… being in love isn’t about foreseeing the future, it’s about living in the present. And even though things didn’t work out between Yoochun and Junsu, you can’t deny they were in love once, and neither of them regrets anything.”


But even as he said that, Yunho knew the hardest part of loving someone is to stay in love with them. And it was precisely for this reason that he hadn’t told Jaejoong that he loves him.









vii.

To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new




Jaejoong sighed as he shrugged off his overcoat, sparing an indifferent glance at the sprinkling snow outside. He hoped it wouldn’t accumulate too much overnight because he didn’t like the thought of waking up early tomorrow morning just to shovel his driveway. He dropped his keys on the small table next to the shoe stand and kicked off his shoes, noticing a pair was missing from its usual spot. ‘He’s out again?’


Frowning at the thought of another long winter’s night alone in the house, he angrily hung up the coat on a hook near the front door. ‘He better not come home drunk this time,’ he thought, unwinding the scarf around his neck. He was just about to hang the scarf next to his coat when said coat fell off the hook and onto the floor. Frowning again, Jaejoong picked it up to hang again when he realized why it didn’t hang properly in the first place.


There was a piece of paper stuck over the hook.


Annoyed, Jaejoong ripped the offending note off and replaced his coat and the scarf next to it. He then flipped the note around and read the fine text written on it.



Weather’s cold. Warm yourself up with some nice, hot tea on the dining table~



Jaejoong’s first thought was freak out that someone had managed to break into his house, but that was before he was sure that the handwriting was, unmistakably, Yunho’s. Confused, and not just a little bit scared, he tiptoed around the corner into the dining area and just as the note had said, a cup of tea was steaming next to a plate of cookies. He turned around and eyed the rest of the empty house suspiciously then did the same to the food on the table. Picking up a piece of cookie, he bit into it and choked. Now I definitely know he made this himself.


Coughing at the sour taste in his mouth, Jaejoong downed half the cup of tea in one go. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed another piece of paper sitting on the bottom of the plate, underneath the cookies. Intrigued once again, he dusted off the crumbs and read.



Okay so maybe I’m not the best cook in the world, but if you’re reading this, you must still be alive! Next stop, the bedroom~




Jaejoong scrunched up the note and huffed, a little bit peeved. “If you have the time to leave me stupid love notes Jung Yunho, you should be here at home!” he snarled and ventured into the hall leading to the bedroom. As he threw open the door, his mouth dropped open and all traces of anger disappeared.


There, decorating every inch, every nook and every corner of the bedroom, were blood red rose petals. “What in the world…” he took a step into the room and spotted a dozen long-stems littering the bed, “…just what is the meaning of all this?”


“Just wanted to show you a side of me you didn’t know.”


Jaejoong whirled around, startled. A smirking Yunho was leaning again the doorframe.


“You! …why are you home anyway? Your shoes are—”


“In the shoe cupboard.”


Jaejoong smiled, taking in the beauty of the room again, “This had better not be billed under my name again.


“…er…”









viii.

Her lips are the doors to heaven, and kisses are the hugs of thorns
even the suffering is sweet, la dolce malattia, see, I’m not okay




“I love you, Yunho.”


You fall. Falling into his web was like injecting your veins with poison. Sweet, sweet poison. Dangerous—deadly even—but you want it, need it, no... crave it.


Yes, you didn’t need him. Just want.


He is the epitome of desire. He is the reason why roses have thorns. He is the rose and his words, his touch, are the thorns. Everytime you reach out to the beauty it protects, the thorns are there waiting, as if it’s the price you must pay for the treasure. And when the rose wraps himself around you every night, thorns digging into your side leaving you begging for mercy, you wonder if this is pain.


If it is, then why aren’t you bleeding?



This must also be love.









ix.

We still don't know what tomorrow's happy story will be
But let's build it together




Yunho lounges contently on the couch in the living room with Jaejoong in his arms on a Saturday afternoon, enjoying the steady fade of sunlight without a care in the world. One of his hands rests on Jaejoong’s stomach while the other threads through his hair. Yunho breathes in the scent of spring filtering in through the window opposite and allows Jaejoong’s quiet ramblings to ease his mind.


“—and then after I kick Yoochun awake, Changmin would have long started eating the strawberry pancakes I’d have placed on the dining table. Then Junsu would follow suit. I’d say we would finish breakfast before 10am tomorrow morning because everyone gets to sleep in an extra hour.”


Yunho nods and hums slightly to show he’s still listening.


“After breakfast we’ll hit the mall because I heard there will be a sale on. Hm… Junsu would fight Yoochun for the gorgeous black denim washed shirt, but it will end up being mine. Lunch would be at a western fast-food because we haven’t eaten there in awhile. After that we’ll probably go for a stroll in the park and let out some pent up energy… oh and watch the sunset while we’re at it.”


Yunho tries to hold back a smile at Jaejoong’s obvious detailed imagination.


“—and we’ll probably have take-out for dinner again because we’ll be too tired to cook. What do you think? That’s tomorrow in a nutshell!”


Laughing softly, Yunho tightens his hold around Jaejoong. “Sure, sounds like fun.” He agrees, not quite having the heart to tell him the weather forecast had predicted rain tomorrow, and plus, the fun part of living is being able to take tomorrow into your hands and mould it into a shape of happiness by the end of the day.









x.

I want you back, I want you gone
Maybe I'm sick of holding on




It starts out as a moment of confusion. It was dark, you were tired—but awake—and hungry, hungry for what, you can’t remember. All you remember was a flurry of hands, the couch, midnight snacks, a dim light from the hallway and Yunho. You forget the clock was ticking away the remaining hours of moonlight and all good things that must come to an end when the sun wakes up.


You reach for the last cookie but he wants more. The touch of fingers when his hand darted out to snatch the cookie from your grasp sends goose bumps down your arms. Share, he breathes and takes the cookie into his mouth. Not one to lose, you fly over, on top of him, and bite off half with your mouth. You lean back, satisfied.


You have crumbs in your hair, and you automatically look upwards, completely forgetting the fact that you can’t possibly see it. Your hand inches up in an attempt to brush them off, only to have his hand catch yours in mid-air. He holds it above your head and your questioning glance turns into understanding, because the look in his eyes speaks volumes to you. He throws you back onto the couch and leans over you, faces just mere inches away. If only you could just tilt your chin up just that little


He tastes like dark chocolate—bitter and sweet—was your first thought and you ignore the part of you that wants to believe it’s the cookie you taste. But in the midst of drunken desires, you try to focus on one of Yunho’s hand under your shirt and the other in your hair. You try to focus on the taste of want and the feel of skin under your touch that is distinctively Yunho, because then, you might be able to ignore and push to the back of your mind, the glaring fact that you can’t feel the spark in his kisses.









xi.

As flowers are brilliant but scatter
Who could remain constant in our world?




There’s something different about the way Jaejoong runs around on the sand, barefooted, and dodging water bombs from Changmin. There’s something different, Yunho muses, about the way the sun seems to be able to touch him in places no one has ever touched before.


He’s the type of person who laughs with his eyes…


There’s something different about the way Jaejoong falls in an unceremonious heap onto Junsu’s sandcastle. There’s something different, Yunho muses, about the way the sand seems to rain upon him like crispy brown leaves on a beautiful autumn’s day.


…who watches over you with his ears…


There’s something different about the way Jaejoong dunks Yoochun into the water. There’s something different, Yunho muses, about the way the water seems to plaster his clothes to him like a second skin; the way he shakes the offending droplets out of his hair and onto Yoochun who is busy trying to break out of Junsu’s hold, but none too wholeheartedly, while Changmin hangs off Junsu’s back like a leech.


There’s something different about the way—


Yunho jumps up from his place under the beach umbrella when he feels a torrent of ice-cold sea water rain over his head. He stares back, shocked and water rolling sensually off his skin, at a mischievous Jaejoong who holds the empty bucket in front of him like a shield. One look is all the warning he gives Jaejoong and dashes after him towards the water where the others are waiting, laughter intertwining with the summer breeze in the air—it smells like love.


Yes. There’s something different about Jaejoong, Yunho thinks, he’s the only inconsistency in his life.


…who thinks with his heart.










xii.

I'm amazed how everything shines when you're in love
I believed there wasn't a thing worth forgetting




It’s eleven in the morning when he tells you,

Love like you’ve never been hurt, he says. And you laugh, sunshine raining upon your cheeks; and you laugh, spinning and twirling around him with arms wide open, you want to embrace the wind; and you laugh at the way his shadow dances with yours.


He laughs with you.



It’s eleven in the evening when he tells you,

Hurt like you’ve never been in love, he says. And you punch him lightly in the stomach; and you tackle him, throw him on the floor and tickle him senseless; and you laugh at the way his laughter seems to be contagious.


He carries on laughing.



It’s eleven the next morning when you tell him, feeling warm and safe in bed, in his arms,

No Yunho, I’ll love like I’ve always been in love with you.









others.


A/N: ....♥? Or no ♥? Was there a drabble which stole your heart? even a little bit, maybe? You can comment and tell me~ y/y? ;; Yeah, sometimes I think maybe I shouldn't be allowed to write. But hey, birthdays are exceptions! Thanks for reading 8D♥

Tags: author: connie, fandom: dbsk, genre: alternate-universe, genre: angst, genre: fluff, length: drabbles, pairing: yunjaeho
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