Changmin refuses to go to school the next day.

Jaejoong protests as much as he’s able to without a voice—Changmin’s grades are what’s going to get him a good future, not Jaejoong—but Changmin is adamant. “I’m late anyway,” he reasons, reaching up to gently wipe a drying tear off Jaejoong’ cheek. “And I told Professor Yunho that I won’t be coming, so don’t worry about it.”

If he notices Jaejoong freezing temporarily at the mention of Yunho’s name, he doesn’t comment.

The house is silent when they finally come downstairs, the quiet yawning before them endlessly, like a cave with no limit. On the wall, the beautifully carved wooden cuckoo clock strikes ten, and it calls into Jaejoong’s mind, unbidden, that he should be in Biology class by now, chatting with friends and doing in-class assignments and listening to Professor Yunho’s…

Yunho.

That name gives rise to a whole different set of thoughts that Jaejoong can’t stop from coming. Changmin’s saying something, but to Jaejoong it’s just background noise, nonsensical-sounding accompaniment Yunho’s much-stronger voice.

“I am so, so sorry, Joongie.”

“I thought that even if you forgot me, at the very least, I would remember you, and I could bring us back together again and again, as many times as I had to.”

“I’ve waited for so long…I can wait a little more.”

And most of all, Yunho’s unfinished sentence, part of which won’t stop playing in Jaejoong’s head like a broken recorder.

I still love you.

I still love you.

I still love you.

“Hyung!”

Jaejoong blinks, snapping out of it, to come back to a reality where it’s Changmin in front of him, waving his hand in front of Jaejoong’s eyes worriedly. “Did you hear me?”

Jaejoong shakes his head apologetically.

Changmin sighs. “I’m making breakfast.”

Oh no. Jaejoong’s eyes widen at that. As much as the thought of Yunho hurts, there are more pressing things to take care of now, such as whether or not Changmin is going to blow up the kitchen. It’s the sad but honest truth that Changmin generally makes a mess with any food besides ramen.

“Do you want a sunny side-up or an omelette?” He grins at Jaejoong’s sudden frantic hand movements. “Relax, it’s just eggs. Even I can make them.”

Jaejoong’s not so sure about that, but all the crying’s left him drained and exhausted. He’s not sure if he even has the strength to make it as far as the kitchen, let alone figure out how to operate the stove and make breakfast.

And perhaps…perhaps it may even distract him for awhile.

He nods reluctantly and collapses onto a chair like a fragile house of cards. He leans over and presses his face against the cool polished wood of the table, trying to let the sound of pots and pans clanging and Changmin’s occasional cussing drown out all other thoughts.

Especially those of Yunho.

-{}-                      

The egg is a bit burnt around the edges, but considering Changmin’s history with cooking food, it’s actually something of an achievement.

Still, something seems off.

Jaejoong doesn’t know what it is, but he can’t shake that feeling off.

Sometimes, like now, Changmin’s deaf and blind to the world, lost inside the alternate reality of some novel with a gratuitous amount of guns on the cover. It’s no big deal—Changmin’s done worse things at the dining table than ignore him. There shouldn’t be anything strange about him.

And yet, there is.

Has Changmin always eaten so little for someone with his appetite? Has he always eaten so slowly? Has he always read a book with such intensity?

"…trying to defend yourself against a tall boy who looked more or less around my age and yours.”

Changmin’s voice is in his head.

“Be my guest, professor.”

His tone at that time…underneath the sarcasm, it had been full of…not hate, but scorn. As though Yunho being his teacher was something almost laughable. As though Yunho being his better was a ridiculous notion.

“Umm, hyung?” Changmin shifts uneasily in his seat, having finally glanced up from his book. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Without taking his eyes off Changmin, Jaejoong holds out an arm. His heart’s beating fast, the rhythmic lub-dub a constant drumbeat in his ears. He nearly flinches at the thought of what could happen if what he thinks is correct, but he doesn’t draw his arm away. Not even an idiot could mistake it for anything other than an offering.

Changmin looks away almost immediately, but Jaejoong could swear he saw Changmin’s nostrils flare.

He forces his arm to stay still, and eventually Changmin looks at him again. Since he doesn’t have a notepad or tablet, all Jaejoong can do is communicate with his eyes, but even then the message could not have been clearer.

Drink.

Changmin doesn’t move for a long time. And then, slowly, he pulls Jaejoong’s arm closer towards him and presses his lips against Jaejoong’s wrist.

Guys sorry if I sound like I want attention or anything but I would really, really like it if you commented more