Jaejoong/Yoochun, PG, Romance, Angst
It's on nights like these, when it's too warm or the cold is sharp and beginning to settle into the tips of Jaejoong's fingers, that Jaejoong stays awake and keeps Yoochun company.
Idk, Idk. It was 3:20 A.M when I wrote this. I should have been asleep.
For Kendra. Take this and feel a little better, even if it's a sad attempt. Here, take a little bit of my heart, too, just because. ♥
Yoochun's insomnia rubs off on Jaejoong, sometimes, when it's late in summer or early in winter and Jaejoong's trying to find that right spot and place so he can feel like himself again. Yoochun stays up trying to compose melodies, etching himself on pieces of staff paper and then crumpling them up when he can't do it right. It's on nights like these, when it's too warm or the cold is sharp and beginning to settle into the tips of Jaejoong's fingers, that Jaejoong stays awake and keeps Yoochun company.
Jaejoong's lazy and lethargic, awake but sick of 5 A.M. sunrises. Yoochun's stopped his scribbling and now he's lying on the couch, sprawled over Jaejoong's legs like it's where he knows he should be, and Jaejoong's eyelids are heavy but he's still not tired. Yoochun's watching him.
"You don't have to do this, you know," Yoochun says.
"Do what?" Jaejoong asks. He feels like playing the lying game, thinks of telling other lies like I wish I wasn't here and I don't like you more than I should.
"This." Yoochun sits up but he's still himself, still too close and just close enough, with his fingers splayed over Jaejoong's hand and his hair on Jaejoong's shoulder. "You don't have to pretend you can't sleep to stay here." (With me.)
"Maybe you should sleep, if I'm pretending," Jaejoong says, watching the start of a painted glow on the horizon in the window in front of them. "This conversation is pointless, anyway, 'cause I'm not."
"Most conversations at 5 A.M. are pointless," Yoochun says. His head's on Jaejoong's shoulder, now, and his fingers are tracing maps on the inside of Jaejoong's wrists, finding veins and a few truths and lies in the fluttering of his pulse. Yoochun aligns their hands together, doesn't say another word, and it's like he's comparing whose fingers are longer and whose palm is wider. Jaejoong fingers the inside of Yoochun's wrist, too, mirroring his actions, realizing that Yoochun's got that same pace that Jaejoong has, except Jaejoong doesn't know how to read him right.
Yoochun's saying, "Jaejoong, Jaejoong," his eyes bright but too dark in this early morning light, like the glow of a star painted black. Jaejoong's pulse is tripping over his unvoiced words and his thoughts; his lungs are pressured for air. Yoochun's in his breathing space now - his lips are close but his eyes are even closer, still too dark and too bright.
Yoochun kisses Jaejoong, then, and it's chaste and drowsy and tastes like 5 A.M air, going all the way to Jaejoong's toes, hot and cold and right. Jaejoong's fingers are still icy but they're encased in Yoochun's.
Yoochun's eyes, when he pulls back, are a tumbling mess in the dryer, back and forth, back and forth, tell me that was right so I can slow down. Jaejoong kisses him again, and maybe it's not what he should be doing, because maybe he's telling Yoochun to speed up when he should be telling him to slow down. They'll figure it out later, Jaejoong thinks. Right now, this is what he needs. Call him selfish, call him arrogant, but Jaejoong thinks that maybe, Yoochun needs him, too.
(It's nights like these that can be measured in the space of a heartbeat, or by the thin, cool stretches of ice they lie on when they're holding each other's hands and staring up at a 3 A.M. ceiling. They can be measured in the time it takes to find that right note of that familiar song or the time it takes to whisper those three words across a field of dry air when it's a day to share a secret that isn't a secret at all. Jaejoong thinks he can say it, one day, even though neither of them knows how to get all of each other without losing themselves in return. It's that selfish desire, to keep yourself and the other, but - but Jaejoong looks at Yoochun's long, too-thin fingers, his fading eyes and his pale skin that doesn't contrast too much with his smoky smile, and Jaejoong thinks that maybe Yoochun has all of him already, and when he realizes it (when Jaejoong finds enough of himself to tell him, maybe one day in the middle of spring), he'll be whole.)