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title : flight 447
pairing : changmin/yunho
rating : pg-13
words : 792
summary : changmin waits for word of yunho.
a/n : based on the recent disappearance of Air France flight 447 over the Atlantic Ocean.
He gets the news at seven on his Blackberry, twenty-three missed calls from Jaejoong alone and twelve from other close friends. CNN blares on in the background, "Missing Air France plane probably crashed into the Atlantic," and he listens, knuckles white from frustration and fear.
He gets there thirty minutes later, a private jet that takes him to Paris' Charles de Gaulle Airport, where it takes a group of seven men, Yoochun and Jaejoong plus security guards, to hold him down, all screams and fury, "I'm Shim Changmin, fucking billionaire, don't tell me there's nothing I can do but wait!!"
He thinks of Yunho, ratty suitcase from childhood in one hand and plane ticket in the other, enthusiasm in his voice, "There's no reason to fly private just because you're rich Changmin-ah, I'll get there in one piece, don't worry."
But he does worry because Yunho's not here with him.
He stays at the airport, falling into fitful slumber, Jaejoong's hand in his and head in Yoochun's lap. He wakes periodically, suit crumpled and tie tossed in the trash, pacing up and down the carpeted hallway, angry voice waking others nearby.
Jaejoong says nothing, head bowed and quiet, he's cried and prayed, only wishing now it had been him on that plane and not his best friend. Yoochun smokes, packet after packet of Marlboros, going through five before he's stopped by the oldest, a hand on his shoulder and lighter fluid taken away.
The President of France makes an appearance Monday, telling them he's sorry and chances of finding survivors are "very low."
Changmin spends an hour in the bathroom afterwards, knocking over garbage cans and kicking at empty stalls, idle hands itching to destruct. Jaejoong finds him there, curled in the corner, face covered by large hands and body shaking from tears and exhaustion.
He lets Changmin claw at him, all curses and heated punches until the younger man is clinging to his lapels, hands fisted into the collar and crying for Yunho to be there, to just be there.
They get news on Tuesday morning of debris found by the search and rescue crews. An airplane seat, some metal pieces, an orange float and some oil, all found in a three mile strip between Rio de Janeiro and Paris.
There's no sign of any survivors. Their names are posted on pieces of paper, eight and a half by eleven inches, two hundred and twenty-eight names listed in rows of black ink. Candles light the hallways, tall and square, vanilla and they blind him.By the sixteenth reading, Jung Yunho bleeds into Joo Brian and Changmin tears them all up, watching them burn in front of him with little satisfaction.
The room empties that afternoon, most of the families returning home to take care of funeral services, hope gone and spirits drained. Changmin stays, refusing to leave, images of his boyfriend's bright smile and warm laughter still too engrained in his mind and heart for him to do anything less but wait.
He dreams that night of the older man, vibrant dreams of Yunho's lips on his, soft and familiar as they tease one another, hands joined and hips bucking against one another's. He screams Yunho's name repeatedly, voice hoarse when he awakens and underwear wet with his own come.
Thursday night is when the officials backtrack, debris that was once from the plane crash now isn't. They're told there was no material from the airplane picked up. The material made of wood not from the Air France plane.
News of carnage found reaches Changmin in Korea Saturday morning. The bodies of two men, one a confirmed passenger from Flight 447 that had been found earlier that day. He watches from the sidelines as they lower the empty casket in dank soil, waits until he can no longer see the dark hue of enamel before he leaves, whispers of "how calm and strong" he is from colleagues and family members. They expected nothing less from their leader, always the professional even in the face of such tragedy.
Only Jaejoong knows different, voice a soft lullaby for the twenty-one year old man as he sleeps and presence a grounding factor as he eventually wakes during the night, fervent whispers of "Yunho! Yunho!" on his lips.
Changmin leaves a month later, a legal document transferring all stock to Jaejoong and Yoochun, and a sticky note attached telling them he loves them.
They receive periodic post cards and letters from the younger boy, mostly empty with maybe a signature and few words of how he's doing on them.
Italy, Tokyo, Singapore, New York and Toronto, Changmin travels the world, a rattled suitcase in hand and bus ticket in the other, a piece of Yunho left in every corner.
pairing : changmin/yunho
rating : pg-13
words : 792
summary : changmin waits for word of yunho.
a/n : based on the recent disappearance of Air France flight 447 over the Atlantic Ocean.
He gets the news at seven on his Blackberry, twenty-three missed calls from Jaejoong alone and twelve from other close friends. CNN blares on in the background, "Missing Air France plane probably crashed into the Atlantic," and he listens, knuckles white from frustration and fear.
He gets there thirty minutes later, a private jet that takes him to Paris' Charles de Gaulle Airport, where it takes a group of seven men, Yoochun and Jaejoong plus security guards, to hold him down, all screams and fury, "I'm Shim Changmin, fucking billionaire, don't tell me there's nothing I can do but wait!!"
He thinks of Yunho, ratty suitcase from childhood in one hand and plane ticket in the other, enthusiasm in his voice, "There's no reason to fly private just because you're rich Changmin-ah, I'll get there in one piece, don't worry."
But he does worry because Yunho's not here with him.
He stays at the airport, falling into fitful slumber, Jaejoong's hand in his and head in Yoochun's lap. He wakes periodically, suit crumpled and tie tossed in the trash, pacing up and down the carpeted hallway, angry voice waking others nearby.
Jaejoong says nothing, head bowed and quiet, he's cried and prayed, only wishing now it had been him on that plane and not his best friend. Yoochun smokes, packet after packet of Marlboros, going through five before he's stopped by the oldest, a hand on his shoulder and lighter fluid taken away.
The President of France makes an appearance Monday, telling them he's sorry and chances of finding survivors are "very low."
Changmin spends an hour in the bathroom afterwards, knocking over garbage cans and kicking at empty stalls, idle hands itching to destruct. Jaejoong finds him there, curled in the corner, face covered by large hands and body shaking from tears and exhaustion.
He lets Changmin claw at him, all curses and heated punches until the younger man is clinging to his lapels, hands fisted into the collar and crying for Yunho to be there, to just be there.
They get news on Tuesday morning of debris found by the search and rescue crews. An airplane seat, some metal pieces, an orange float and some oil, all found in a three mile strip between Rio de Janeiro and Paris.
There's no sign of any survivors. Their names are posted on pieces of paper, eight and a half by eleven inches, two hundred and twenty-eight names listed in rows of black ink. Candles light the hallways, tall and square, vanilla and they blind him.By the sixteenth reading, Jung Yunho bleeds into Joo Brian and Changmin tears them all up, watching them burn in front of him with little satisfaction.
The room empties that afternoon, most of the families returning home to take care of funeral services, hope gone and spirits drained. Changmin stays, refusing to leave, images of his boyfriend's bright smile and warm laughter still too engrained in his mind and heart for him to do anything less but wait.
He dreams that night of the older man, vibrant dreams of Yunho's lips on his, soft and familiar as they tease one another, hands joined and hips bucking against one another's. He screams Yunho's name repeatedly, voice hoarse when he awakens and underwear wet with his own come.
Thursday night is when the officials backtrack, debris that was once from the plane crash now isn't. They're told there was no material from the airplane picked up. The material made of wood not from the Air France plane.
News of carnage found reaches Changmin in Korea Saturday morning. The bodies of two men, one a confirmed passenger from Flight 447 that had been found earlier that day. He watches from the sidelines as they lower the empty casket in dank soil, waits until he can no longer see the dark hue of enamel before he leaves, whispers of "how calm and strong" he is from colleagues and family members. They expected nothing less from their leader, always the professional even in the face of such tragedy.
Only Jaejoong knows different, voice a soft lullaby for the twenty-one year old man as he sleeps and presence a grounding factor as he eventually wakes during the night, fervent whispers of "Yunho! Yunho!" on his lips.
Changmin leaves a month later, a legal document transferring all stock to Jaejoong and Yoochun, and a sticky note attached telling them he loves them.
They receive periodic post cards and letters from the younger boy, mostly empty with maybe a signature and few words of how he's doing on them.
Italy, Tokyo, Singapore, New York and Toronto, Changmin travels the world, a rattled suitcase in hand and bus ticket in the other, a piece of Yunho left in every corner.
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Poor Changmin ;______; /sobs I want my beautiful HoMin together again T^T
But even though this was so sad, it was beautiful at the same time ♥