• old habits die hard

happy birthday (2015), jung yunho!

sometimes, i want to read another yunjae fic that hits me as hard as each and every one of quirke's pieces did. one where jaejoong, tired, darkness tracing his eyes (not in the form of kohl, but of exhaustion), exhales into the cold, his breath vaporising into a soft mist. 'what have i ever done,' he says, between soft inhales and exhales, the tips of his fingers tracing the lines around his cigarette, unlit, waiting (but jaejoong will never get to it, because yunho had never liked it when he smoked, never liked how his gums darkened and how the taste became harder to bear with each passing day, how the tar would linger for hours but the pain would hold for days). 'what have i ever done, to deserve someone like you. jung yunho.' and there's a movement, and a hand picks the unlit joint from between jaejoong's fingers and replaces it with another five, warm and slightly callused after the traveling, the dancing and falling only to stand up again. practice, practice, makes perfect. twelve years ago, yunho told jaejoong the exact same thing. twelve years later, here he is, sitting on a rooftop at three in the morning in the february cold, with a voice and a reputation. and it should have been all he ever wanted (until he found yunho and changed his mind, only to have his everything be taken away from him). yunho's grip tightens, and he breathes out shakily. jaejoong doesn't even need to turn to look, he can see the chattering smile resting on yunho's lips. their silence is taunted by the howling wind and the flecks of snow slowly drifting downwards from the sky, threatening them with the possibility of a blizzard. jaejoong waits, for a movement, a word, anything; yunho just does not let go. 'sooner is better than later, i think.' he finally says, after the moon hides behind a cloud. a weight rests upon jaejoong's right shoulder; yunho's head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck. a tear slides down his face.

'we would have ended up together anyway, one way or another.'

• monsta x showho drabble, dramarama au

"I have to go,"

The clock inched closer and closer to 5pm, with the last hours of sunlight filtering in and upon the wooden panels of the empty training hall, dust dancing in and out of the rays that dressed their backs. the only thing that hoseok could hear was their heaving, tight breaths that went in and out as he watched the sweat drip from hyunwoo's forehead onto the pale wood beneath himself, and the heartbeat heavy in his chest, as though he'd been running in circles for miles on end. his legs were trapped; one caught under the weight of what seemed to be hyunwoo's entire body, while the other was pulled tightly over his left shoulder. on impulse-- as he was trained to do-- hoseok placed a cautionary hand on hyunwoo's thigh, pressing slightly against him to quietly discourage going any further or coming any closer. hoseok watches carefully as hyunwoo knits his brow, his lips twisting as he tries to conjures up thoughts and turn them into words. it's amusing; hoseok can't help but allow his lips to twitch into a tired smile, before exhaustion catches up to him.

"then don't go," hyunwoo says suddenly, lips parted, glossy with sweat and spit and hoseok scolds himself, because he's allowed this to go on for much too long, has lied and made excuses for himself that were all so selfish, /how could he have forgotten how hyunwoo might feel?/

"hyunwoo-"

"just don't go. don't leave... wonho."

the way he says it stings; wonho isn't

// ideas: 'i don't know a lot about you. i don't know if i ever will, if you'll ever let me. but if you'd let me to listen to your story... if you'd allow me to learn, allow me inside, then i'd like that, a lot, i think...' hoseok adopts the name wonho when he time travels; he first meets hyunwoo when he collapses in a twisty alleyway in some obscure suburb towards the outskirts of seoul during a mission, bloodied and bruised, his throat parched and clothes tattered, the glass on his watch just barely intact... when he senses a shadow, cascading upon him from where the light shines in on him, it's a boy--man?-- with a melona raised halfway towards his lips. the next thing he knows, he's been hoisted over this man's shoulder, staining his clothes with the dirt and god-knows what else dripping from his body. hyunwoo brings him to the dojo- from whence he came- and cleans him up, as dusk falls upon the city. he lays hoseok's body, wiped down and dressed in a clean training robe, onto one of the mats in the main hall, drapes a clean towel over his body as a makeshift blanket, and leans back against one of the vaults they use for training. he waits for dawn.

but when he opens his eyes, hoseok is gone.