Changmin could tell you what it felt like to drown, drown, drown and never resurface again. He had been doing that for years now, six years or nine, same thing. The feeling skipped like stone on calm water, grown familiarly skin-deep over the years, becoming flesh and rooted there. His first experience of drowning was almost sweet, although terrifying because he did not understand, and not understanding scared Changmin.

It was sink or swim.

Shim Changmin was fourteen, barely there or anywhere. He was an awkward boy fresh from grade school, all odd angles and no grace, with a quivering from nerve, high-pitched voice, one of the faces in a crowd of equally awkward, terrified strangers in a stranger’s place.

Jaejoong was older, confident, worldly, a gentle force, and he moved like he knew himself, his body, and the whole weary world. He was comforting, cooing to a crying Yunho, who was clinging to Jaejoong after a particularly stressful vocal practice, thinking he wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough.

Jaejoong (so fragile, so pretty, yet so strong) held out his arms like he was big enough to hide Yunho away from the world, or high-strung, demanding instructors.

He said something to the instructors, a play of sweet words and pouting lips, asking them to let Yunho off. Changmin was smart enough, observant enough, staring enough to see that Jaejoong was subtly, verbally insulting the instructors’ mentality and professionalism, his pretty eyes still wide and innocent, as if without guile, without ill intent. Just an instinct to protect.

The instructors never realized it. They played right into his hands.

Changmin watched, drowned, and he never came up again.


- - - - -


Changmin tightened his grip on the steering wheel, the flat of his shoes flooring the gas pedal.


- - - - -


It was supposed to be a schoolboy’s crush, a puppy love, or first love at first sight or whatever, but Changmin felt as if the world revolved around his feelings, his devotion, his love, how every little thing that Jaejoong did (smiling at him, petting his hair, slapping his shoulder) could make him vomit sunshine and rainbow and cotton candy all day, or turn him into a self-decapitating, sulky teenager spiraling in tsunamis of never-ending misery and desolation in the blink of an eye.

Changmin was so young and in love, and in his mind, it was not a crush and his love was whole and pure, Shakespearean and transcended over everything that was great and legendary, like Atlantis, and he honestly believed that no one could possibly loved Jaejoong the way he did, like he would be (and he was) the only great love he knew in his life.

No. Not even close.

Not even Yunho.


- - - - -


The sky above Seoul was dark, dark, dark. It was always darkest before it turned pitch black.

Dark as his heart, before it turned black.

He ignored the sharp honk from the right and left and behind him, slamming the wheel to one side and narrowly missing another car. His eyes were seeing nothing, his breathing loud in his ears and chest tight.

And the rain fell.


- - - - -


Changmin remembered this one high-summer day.

It was their day off, finally, and today they were just boys. Changmin took the chance to sleep in, swatting and growling sleepily and unhappily at anyone who tried to disturb his first ten-hour sleep in a long while since the last live tour and waking up only when his stomach started to protest for missed breakfast and late lunch.

He grabbed Junsu’s wife-beater strewn on the floor, threw them over his boxers, and padded out of his room.

He stopped mid-yawn and frowned when he saw his oldest hyung, sprawled on his stomach on their living room’s purple sofa, legs and arms dangled over the armrests and face planted against the plush throw pillow with Junsu’s Angel Smile TM printed on it, and unlaced shoes still attached to his small feet.

“Hyung, haven’t I told you that I hate people walking around the house wearing shoes? That’s disgusting.”

Jaejoong mumbled gibberish against the pillow and toed off his shoes carelessly. They fell on the floor with a thud and Changmin was about to scold him when Jaejoong sat up so quickly Changmin saw a three-dimensional effect and whined, “Changmin-ah, your hyung is so tired today and his muscles are aching everywhere. Be a good dongsaeng and massage his achy feet?”

“Yah, stop talking in third person, that’s annoying. And no, I don’t wanna touch your stinky feet. Go ask Junsu-hyung or something.”

Jaejoong pouted, lower lips protruding and eyes wide. “My feet are not stinky! And I spent the whole day preparing the koatgaetang and kimchi chigae that you love so much, and the yookgaejang too, for dinner and no one helped me with the super heavy groceries too, and oh, oh!” He faked an exaggerated groan, rubbing and patting the small of his back, “Oh, oh, my hips! I think they’re making weird, squeaky noises! Gah! Changmin-ah, hyung is dying here~”

Jaejoong acted like a baby when he wanted something, even when he was pretending to be an eighty-year-old with rheumatics. And he was supposed to be older than Changmin.

Changmin sighed at his hyung’s dramatics, knowing that he could not escape. He had never escaped. “Fine, fine, but call me hyung first.”

Jaejoong’s playful pout turned petulant as he squeezed Junsu’s pillow around the neck. No wonder people always thought that Yunho was the oldest. “You always said that. Why do you always say that?”

Changmin nodded and folded his arms, smirking smugly. “Yes, hyung. I always say that.”

“Some cute maknae you turned out to be. Where is that adorable boy who kissed the cat?” Jaejoong wailed and Changmin winced, blushing.

“Hyung, I told you that it was years ago! Get over it!”

Ever since Jaejoong had dinner with his parents, without Changmin, he always took his so-called responsibility over babying Changmin very seriously.

He hated it when Jaejoong treated him like a child, like he would always be just the maknae, just the baby. Nothing more.

Jaejoong made a show of counting with his fingers, lips pursed in a moue of childishness. “That was the ninety-eighth time this year alone.”

“I am not going to ask how or why you even know that.” Changmin deadpanned, unfolding his limbs and placing his hands on his waist instead, as if talking to a misbehaved child. Maybe he was.

He giggled and pointed at himself excitedly. “Tensai, tensai, tensai~ Cheonjae~”

Changmin rolled his eyes again. “Whatever. Why am I even calling you hyung?” He cleared his throat. “Now, aren’t you going to call me hyung first already? I thought you were supposed to be dying. Repeat after me, say Changmin-hyungnim~”

Jaejoong did not seem to hear Changmin; eyes glazing slightly in thoughts, but the members were used to his sudden state of pensiveness and stopped being offended after the first twenty-four hours.

There were times when Jaejoong would keep to himself, dazedly tucked away in a far-end corner, and often enough, Changmin wondered if he was actually thinking at all or he was just sleeping with his eyes open.

He could never be too sure with Kim Jaejoong, after all.

“Yah, Changmin-ah, say it again.”

Changmin stared at his hyung blankly. “What? You’re supposed to be dying?”

“No, not that! That!” Jaejoong’s shook his head quickly, his fluffy hair falling all over his face and swaying in motion. “The one from before…”

“What?” Changmin’s frown deepened as he titled his head to the side, “Call me hyung first?”

Jaejoong grinned, all crooked edge and blank eyes gone glittering, “Ja-jang~ and that makes it the hundredth time! Changmin-ah, we should have an anniversary for that!”

Changmin raised an eyebrow, pretending that he was not side-blinded by Jaejoong’s smile as always, “A what now?”

Jaejoong was thrown in a small fit of giggles, hand against his mouth, “An anniversary! You know, like when couples have the one hundredth day anniversary, the three hundredth day anniversary, first kiss, first —Well, yeah. That. We should call this the Every One Hundredth Time Choikang Changmin Said Call-Me-Hyung-First Anniversary!” He paused, scrunching his nose before giggling, “… Or something like that! It could be a Soulfighter’s thing, like one-touches and hamtaro pajamas!”

Changmin rolled his eyes but bit his lips to keep from grinning. Was it stupid if he thought every little stupid and senseless thing Jaejoong did and rambled was adorable? Changmin never claimed complete good sense of judgement anyway.

“Or something like that. Pabo hyung. No one uses long names like that for anniversaries.”

“Yaaaah~ I’m still older, you know!” He whined.

“Act like it!”

Jaejoong giggled as he stood on tip-toes to ruffle Changmin’s hair before suddenly losing his balance because Changmin was too tall for him to reach and stumbled forward. Changmin caught him easily and Jaejoong buried his face in Changmin’s wide chest, nuzzling happily.

Changmin tried not to burst in mini epileptic fit of hormones and happiness and , because Jaejoong was a natural touchy-feely who was in constant need of excessive skin-ship and this might not mean anything (as always), but he still the black hair gone soft with hair products and tried not to make it too obvious that he was enjoying every inch of skin pressed together, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to “don’t like men.”

He didn’t get it. Yoochun and Jaejoong used the same shampoo, but Jaejoong always smelled a little nicer, a little sweeter, warmer, like his freshly baked sugar cookies. Changmin loved sugar cookies.

Jaejoong’s sugar cookies.

He placed his chin on Jaejoong’s head and closed his eyes, “Hyung,”

“Hmm?”

“You’re so short.”

Jaejoong gasped, offended, before he started one-touching Changmin on the shoulder until the maknae was laughing and shielding himself from the slaps and punches, “Cheeky brat, when did you grow up so much to look down on your hyungnim, huh? Huh?”

Although it was in the middle of August and the air conditioner was ty at best (damn Yoochun for abusing that thing last winter), Jaejoong chased Changmin around living room for five minutes before tackling the younger boy on the floor. Changmin was sweating and panting slightly and he complained as Jaejoong settled on his chest like a proverbial a-hundred-and forty-something-pound dead weight that he was, although he did nothing to shrug the older off.

For a moment, they just laid there, being comfortable despite the clothes sticking to their skin. Changmin soaked up the mild coolness of the floor on his back and, at the same time, the heat of Jaejoong on his front.

“Hyung, aren’t anniversaries supposed to have cakes?” Changmin said after five minutes or maybe twenty-six, “So, does that mean you are going to bake me a cake?”

Jaejoong frowned and shook his head as he sat up. “What? After the mysterious disappearance of the brownies I made for manager-hyung? You are still the prime suspect, dongsaeng.”

“I told you it was Junsu-hyung’s fault!”

“Uh-huh, and that explains the suspicious chocolate stain I found on your pillow covers.” Jaejoong rolled his eyes, and then his lips curled upward suddenly, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. That never meant good. “No cake. I have something else in mind.”

Changmin took a stance, preparing for a pounce or tickle attack, something, but then, Jaejoong did a completely different something. He grabbed Changmin by the ears and turned his head. Changmin did the first thing that came to mind: he froze, eyes wide, thoughts abandoning him (the ultimate act of betrayal), even as Jaejoong pressed his full lips, lips, lips against Changmin’s.

It wasn’t even considered a kiss.

It was a peck at the most, a quarter of half-assed blink-and-you-miss-it popo that you gave to your four-year-old nephews and nieces and pet kittens. Jaejoong probably did it because the mood struck him, because he was Jaejoong-hyung and he liked random kisses, because he treated Changmin like a baby brother that he wanted but never had living in a house with eight older women, because of many, many reasons that did not include Changmin’s vulnerable hopes and fantasies of happy ending and castles on clouds, or at least Jaejoong’s bed, but Changmin took what he was given graciously.

He was never a wasteful person, nor ungrateful, and he had grown quite good at lying with himself.

When Jaejoong pulled away, he was b with glee at the fact that he managed to shock the maknae into silence.

“And that, Shim Changmin, is our kind of celebration. Soulfighters, baby~”

Changmin did not blush, but he was thankful that his hair was long enough to cover his big ears; otherwise Jaejoong would’ve seen that they were red as boiled crabs. He punched his hyung in the arm, not hard enough, but Jaejoong owwie-ed anyway.

“… You’re sooo lucky you’re my favourite hyung, you know that.”

Jaejoong smiled; brilliant pink cheeks and all white teeth. He slapped Changmin on the arm, just because he could.

“I know that.”


- - - - -


The road was slippery, the rain pelted on the window like ice needles.

A storm was coming.


- - - - -


There were pink and yellow and green. They were a swill of colours, pretty ones that reminded Changmin of their days back during Hugs and Balloon, when everything were still innocence and lame-dot-com gags and pretty smiles.

Ever since the break-up, the now duo TVXQ did not have much to do but waste the days in the silence of their now too-empty apartment.

Sometimes, as Changmin half-expected the other three to burst from the front door, giggling and screaming, “Gotcha!” like the bunch of moronic, publicly embarrassing hyung-deul they were and he could pretend that everything was a long, nightmarish candid camera experience.

Then, everything would be back to normal.

Jaejoong would be bustling in the kitchen, procrastinating there and promising a painful death-by-spatula to anyone who crossed it. Junsu would be making a general din and nuisance with the game controller to entertain himself with Yunho humouring him because he was the only one willing, while making sure that Junsu didn’t trip on something invisible. Yoochun would be walking around like a steam-zombie on high-octane coffee in torn sweatpants while composing songs and forcing everyone to listen to it.

There were pink and yellow and green.

Perhaps then Yunho wouldn’t try to pretend that everything was okay, was alright and the same, when it was not, not, not.

Perhaps, even if he had to watch (with VIP front-row view), as Yunho and Jaejoong unknowingly breaking his heart with every stolen kiss they thought no one saw and linked pinkies that they giggled over like school girls, at least he could vent it in the bathroom (fierce tissue rolling, fierce tooth brushing, sabotaging Yunho’s shampoo) and make a general -blocker out of himself by coming between them whenever he shouldn’t and could like the YunJae fan-girls always said.

It wasn’t like anyone could do anything about it. He was Jaejoong’s favourite.

At least then, he would still have his Jaejoong-hyung where he could see, hear, feel, smell, and one-touch him (he could not taste, but even that was okay).

Pink and yellow and green.

He looked at the clock at every hour, every minute, but Jaejoong never appeared at the door (he used to, all puffed up in white like a huge marshmallow, smelling like snow and laden with groceries that he forced onto Changmin with threats of no dinner).

When it never happened, Changmin started the countdown in a pool of colorful pills (pink and yellow and green).


- - - - -


Changmin’s life didn’t flash before his eyes.

He couldn’t recall the spectacular stages, the sea of red that was Cassiopeia, the faces of people he loved, he didn’t pray, or scream, didn’t even think of how much he regretted not telling his mother sorry that he had never been a very filial son, how much he was sorry for hurting Yoochun and Junsu after the break up even when knowing how much they suffered through it all, how much he was sorry, so very sorry, for blaming Yunho when it was not his fault.

He could only think how much he regretted not telling Jaejoong he loved him.


- - - - -


It was a stupid argument turned ugly.

It was a rainy morning too. Gloomy. Grey. Depressing. Much like that morning in early February when Jaejoong walked out of the door, for the last time, all loud noises and scream fest of curses and painful words that hurt so much, they did not where to begin to the wounds carved into skin like that tattoo on Jaejoong’s back: Junsu and Micky.

There were many times when Changmin was just so tired and so angry (so tired of being angry), and he wanted to punch holes through walls and had a break down because he deserved it too.

It was unfair; Jaejoong and Yunho (were, still, would always be in love despite everything else) and everyone else and he hated them all.

In the end, they all left the maknae behind.

The anxiousness, the silence gave too much room for fights, for discomfiture, for bitter words, for memories, the harsh ghosts of loneliness that they were still learning how-to-deal with, that ate them faster than they could run, so much that it turned into hate.

Changmin grew closer to Yunho like never before, because he was the only one left.

But it just made him see why Jaejoong loved Yunho so much (his devotion, his selflessness, his patience dealing with Changmin and the company and the whole ing world) and Changmin hated that he couldn’t be half of what Yunho was and was reminded why Jaejoong could never be his.

He retaliated the only way he could, with harsh words on media, as if the hurt he inflicted could somehow sooth his own.

It didn’t. It was like picking on healing wounds.

He was such a child. Maybe Jaejoong wasn’t wrong, after all.

Perhaps that was why Changmin ended up where he was with Yunho, in the elevator box of SM building after a meeting with Lee Sooman.

The man did not say a lot of things. He did not need to. Unnecessary. Changmin felt like a failure, he knew Yunho felt it too. Lee Sooman considered them as disappointments (defects, expired, expendable assets just expended) because U-Know Yunho and Choikang Changmin failed to (re) become TVXQ when they didn’t manage to bag weekly awards and grand-slam the MAMA like they did in 2008.

Changmin wanted to scream and throw a fit. Unfair. Impossible. He was only a kid. After all, what was the man expecting, when they were just two of five, like a newborn without eyes and lungs and legs?

But apparently, the shame that Kim Jaejoong smeared on SM like permanent magic marker effect, was bone-deep and left no space for reasons or pity, especially not when JYJ strutted in their faces, glamorous, stunning, diamond-precious, what with Yoochun and Junsu winning everything every week and everyone coddling a sensitive, hurt, delicate Jaejoong when he begged for Yunho to pick up his calls on national broadcast in near precious tears.

He didn’t do that for Changmin.

Everyone was pointing fingers, their accusations hurt, their insults a bitter blow to their battered souls. The three of five were the voices, the talents, the pillars and it showed, even with the odds against them. While Changmin wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough. Yunho couldn’t even sing. Their acting was ty, the dramas were ty, Yunho couldn’t even get the main cast.

Changmin knew that people were just being bitter and petty, but it still hurt.

They went on shows and Changmin felt like a decoration mannequin. Yunho tried to do everything like he always did, without wanting to offend anyone, wanting to please everyone, but they still found something wrong with something he did.

There was always something.

Their beloved Cassiopeia them, calling them traitors. Cowards. Heartless. Where was the Yunho I used to love and respect? Changmin was always an ungrateful brat anyway. JYJ hwaiting! I never liked the other two that much anyway. You don’t need them. JYJ could do better. They actually have talents. Better to have balls than none. They left. Just like everyone else, they left when there was nothing else.

It was like rubbing it right into the Lee Sooman’s mortified, thin-skinned face.

Changmin did not remember what he and Yunho argued about after stepping out of the Lee Sooman’s office. He hurled some hurtful, angry words.

Yunho just closed his eyes and took it all, occasionally hissing something in reply, like telling him to shut up, less hurtful but equally angry. He only remembered saying one thing before their manager came to view.

“This is all your fault.”

No one else heard, but Changmin knew Yunho did. It made all kinds of hurt flashed in Yunho’s eyes and, for the first time, Changmin did not feel like he should be guilty. He relished.

He didn’t even care whose fault it was anymore, he just really hated Yunho at the moment when he remembered how much Jaejoong loved Yunho still and how Changmin was so very alone.

The ride down in the tiny elevator box was painfully silent, Yunho and Changmin not looking nor speaking. Then, their manager (new, unfamiliar, indifferent) stepped out on the sixth floor and it was just the two of them, Yunho and Changmin, and the narrow space was suddenly suffocating.

It might be the lack of oxygen to his brain made him lose it, or maybe he was possessed, or the excessive of anti-depressant he secretly took was turning him slightly insane, but he found himself reaching his hands for Yunho’s neck from behind, all the intent to squeeze until air did not reach lungs and then (maybe, maybe) everything could Yunho’s fault and (maybe, maybe, maybe) Junsu and Yoochun and Jaejoong-Jaejoong-Jaejoong, would come back to him.

Maybe he should just stop thinking about maybes.

He could deal losing Yunho for the others. It was grade school logic.

For Jaejoong.

Yunho saw his reflection on the metal door and turned around sharply, and it moments, they were wrestling on the ground in a tangle of long limbs. Yunho was stronger, but he never could bring himself to hurt s (not even at Jaejoong when he left after stabbing verbal stakes through their heart while Changmin was always the maknae), and Changmin managed to straddle and pin him down somehow.

Changmin’s strangling hold circled around Yunho’s neck (steady, unwavering, full of intent) and he applied constant pressure as Yunho choked, his face turning slightly blue and purple.

“C-Changmin… ah, w-what are… you…?”

This is all his fault, his fault, his fault. His. His his his.

“This is all your fault.”


- - - - -


Changmin took a breath, and closed his eyes.

He imagined the sound of Junsu’s eu-kyang-kyang and lame gags in the distant memory, imagined Yoochun’s thin fingers on the piano, imagined Yunho when he was still the old, silly Yunho, everyone’s favourite Yunho.

He imagined Jaejoong’s smile that he always pretended to mean more, than when it was shown to Yoochun or Junsu.

Or the gentle gaze that he wanted to believe was exclusively his, not for Yunho who was standing behind him, beside him, not when he was between them.

Jaejoong. His Jaejoong. On the tongue and teeth, down to the stomach, heart. On the dotted line, in his wildest fantasies. Nightmares and sweets memories.

But. Always his.

- - - - -


Yunho struggled against him, called his name, “Changmin-ah! C-Chang—argh!” while trying to pry Changmin’s hands from crushing his windpipe, narrowing it, cutting air from his lungs. He was gasping and flailing and Changmin needed to just press a little longer, and—

Ding.

The elevator stopped and the door revealed a small crowd of staffs, colleagues, and trainees lining just a foot away. They gasped and stared, eyes wide and jaws slack in shock. Changmin looked up, and the look on their faces was like a bucket of ice water.

Sanity called in and his mind blanked white.

He inhaled sharply, letting go of Yunho and backing away to the wall in a jerk of movement as if the solid surface could open up and swallow him along, eyes widen and hands trembling as he reached up to clutch handfuls of his hair, restless and near hyperventilating.

With his hair and clothes dishevelled, chest heaving and his gaze wild, Changmin looked crazed. He felt like it, too.

What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he even thinking?

What was he trying to do?

It was Yunho, his hyung, his leader. Yunho had always cared for him, loved him, holding his—their—pieces together after the lawsuit broke all of them, taking every blow directed at them, holding in tears, pretending to be unaffected, and choking on pride and too many an emotion.

They had gone through the breakup together, as brothers, as friends, with only each other to rely on, to turn to. It didn’t matter that he didn’t succeed, but he had thought it and he had wanted it to hurt him.

Yunho coughed violently, as he tried to push himself on his elbow, his right hand reaching up to touch where Changmin’s hand left a bruised purple and black print on his neck. He stared at his dongsaeng, still shaken by shock, but he noticed how Changmin’s thin body was wrecked (with what, he could not even begin to say).

What if they hadn’t stopped? What if Jaejoong-hyung knows?

This was Jaejoong’s Yunho.

The thought was terrifying, too much: Jaejoong’s tears, his broken heart, his hate.

“C-Changmin-ah…” Yunho coughed again, this time more softly, voice gravelly from the strain, ignoring everything else as he carefully reached out his right hand to Changmin, his Changmin, his youngest member, the only one that mattered at the moment, as if he was approaching a wary, injured little animal. Maybe he was.

Suddenly, Changmin swatted Yunho’s extended hand and shot up straight. Yunho stared at his face and gaped at the sight of (what could only be) tears streaming down slightly sunken cheeks.

“… I’m sorry, sorry—” Changmin whispered, choking, before he sprinted, forcing his way through the unmoving crowd with his larger built, bumping into them and uncaring when he sent an older woman stumbling backward and spilling coffee to the man standing next to her.

He was already out of the building before anyone could do anything.

“Changmin!”

Yunho was on his feet the moment Changmin squeezed halfway through human barrier, but Yunho wobbled when the world spun and his knees gave in. The crowd chorused and exclaimed, hands reaching to steady him, but Yunho could only see his vision blurring with his own hot tears and he just ran.

He couldn’t lose Changmin in this state. Not now. Changmin was going to do something crazy, Yunho just knew it.

Though the ceiling-to-floor-length window panels, they could see a black van swerving sharply around a corner at illegal speed.

More than one person swore they saw Choikang Changmin driving that car.


- - - - -


TVXQ’s new manager was screaming at everyone when he returned.

He panicked when they told him that the younger member stormed out and took off with one of the vans. How could they just let the brat take it? He had always thought that the brat was too moody, too arrogant, too much of a trouble, too little for his worth, just because he was a part of the ex-legend.

Then someone told him that Jung Yunho went in a different car (someone else said that it was one of the Super Junior’s member’s) after Choikang Changmin.

The manager cursed, he shouldn’t have taken this job.

He was on the phone the next second.


- - - - -


“… We should call this the Every One Hundredth Time Shim Changmin Said Call-Me-Hyung-First Anniversary!”

This was what Changmin remembered: the count stopped at the one-hundred-and-ninety-eighth.

He waited. He welcomed the impact.


- - - - -


It was sink or swim. Changmin sunk.

This time, he drowned in red.


- - - - -


“Now bringing you the breaking news report: two members of the popular TVXQ group sustained serious injuries in a chain car crash at Sinchon-ro at eleven a.m. today. While this was suspected to be a foul play by anti-fans, the police are still investigating the cause of accident. Their conditions are currently critical—”

The glowing television blinked, bleary, before the screen turned black.

Micky Yoochun dropped the remote.