[fic] Jigsaw (fightfair)

title: Jigsaw
length: one-shot
author: fightfair
rating: pg
genre: rubbish; second-person point of view (Yunho), gratuitous time frame hopping
notes: Oh my god what am I doing; I thought I said I wouldn’t write real-person-fiction anymore, hahaha. This started off as only Jaeho, before the other three wheedled themselves in, the sneaky things. First time writing DBSK, please be gentle.
summary: It technically happened like this – one, two, three, but the memories jumble in his head: what they were, what they are, and what they will be.


On days long after You are over, it is easy to lay back, lay down, on an imported couch and ridiculous embroidered pillows from your sister, murmuring the lyrics of old hits. You remember the first few lines with only minimal clarity – catchy, sentimental verses for adolescent girls, and hum the rest. It sounds different, of course, because your voice is lower, and because it is only your voice alone.

The dance choreography is better ingrained into your body, but you are no longer all-powerful and twenty-something, so you only entertain the foolish whim to get up and try it for a second. After Dong Bang Shin Ki was ultimately dissolved, accumulated fame and reputation were easily enough to launch everyone in whatever direction they wanted to go, except the path that was not solo.

Only in retrospect, do you realize how carefully You chose your wording, even back then. So, though while the news (was it news if you knew it was coming?) was heart-breaking, it had been something You had anticipated from the start. Youth only lasted so long, and while your high school fans were growing up, getting married, becoming mothers, You were aging too. "We want to stay together forever," you said, like it was a promise when it was only a prayer.

I dreamt of our separation, you sing, and stop. Because you are an adult now, you can stare at the ceiling on this fortunate one-day break from filming, and feel only the barest hint of pain. Like the thinnest of needles, it pierces deep and sharp, but when it goes away not even a hole remains.

The minutes keep ticking and you wait for four'o'clock.




Maybe it starts like this.

There is a very white and very thick wall between the waiting room (which is really only a crowded hallway and the stairs up to the first floor) and the audition room. There are a hundred hopeful faces mumbling lyrics under their breaths, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as they practice their routines because outside, it is raining with all the fervor of a classic April.

Your mother is wringing her hands beside you, turning the tips of her fingers purple between the folds of her shirt, and you swallow, nervous and also full of dreams. You look around the room, gauging your competition, dismissing those who obviously don't have enough mettle to go any further than already getting into SM Entertainment, and meet another pair of roving eyes.

Kim Jaejoong, though you do not yet know his name and though he has years yet to grow into the Adonis-sculpted features he would be known for, smiles, close-lipped and slightly shy. You smile back. In that moment, the world doesn't cease to turn and your breathing doesn't quicken. You are only children but you find yourself thinking, Ah, I might not win against that one.

The door opens, and while a dejected looking competitor trudges out of the room, a judge calls, "Kim Jaejoong," her glasses sliding down her nose as she peers down at just another name on an endless list of many. Your secret-smile-sharer passes you on his way there, but he doesn't look at you.

You get up when the door closes behind him, and your mother is too preoccupied to notice. Ignoring the confused glances you garner, you press an ear up to the wall, hearing the faintest of voices on the other side. You forget about it when your turn comes around, but that moment seals your fate like the melding of metal by fire.




The first night Dong Bang Shin Ki sleeps outside Korea, they spend it in a chain-brand hotel two miles away from the airport. The flight has made you exhausted and stiff, so the first thing you do when you slide the keycard through the door is make a beeline for the bed. It bounces under your weight, the perfect starch-pressed sheets wrinkling at the disturbance. Jaejoong has not moved from the doorway, face incredulous.

"What?" you say curiously from where you lay.

"Do you notice something different about our room compared to the others'?" he asks, voice level. He drops the bookbag with his pajamas and toothbrush on the floor, toeing out of his shoes while you look around, confused. There is nothing spectacular about the room, but the others were just as plain and standard fare. There are four walls, a bathroom near the door, a closet, a television set and one bed, which is, you realize, one too short.

"It was probably a front-desk error," you think aloud, stretching one last time until your back arches off the blankets before pulling yourself up. Your shoes are still on. "I'll talk to the front desk."

Jaejoong looks at you for a moment, expression reserved and unreadable. "No," he shakes his head, already stripping out of his jacket. "It's late, so unless you mind, I don't really care. I don't kick in my sleep." He slants you a look that you can’t see because you're too busy pressing the keycard so deep into your hands that the edges are cutting into your palm.

"Of course I don't mind," you laugh easily, undoing the buttons of your own coat collar. You have been friends for longer than you have even known the other three, and only recently has the intimacy become uncomfortable, but it is not as if you are on any worse terms, so you don't know why. It might hurt his feelings if you tell him, but when you wake up in the morning with your chest pressed against his back, you forget to breathe for a moment, and you wonder how much more of this you can possibly take.




One-fifty-four and Changmin calls, during the middle of his lunch break while being audibly buffeted by September gusts. You can't understand him until he takes shelter back inside the studio and you hear him as he struggles out of his autumn coat while trying to keep the phone wedged between shoulder and ear. "Hyung," he pants, breathless from the wind, "I forgot. Was it six-thirty you said?"

"Yeah, six-thirty. Don't be late," you remind, and he snickers, muttering under his breath about anal-retentive habits that probably never go away, but he is not talking about you. The sound of his laughter is still bright and pleasant, just like Changmin himself is still very, very tall. It is also contagious, and you grin at nothing in particular, reclining at home.

"Don't repeat that, I'd get killed," Changmin adds quickly, the last word interrupted by the sound of a director calling from behind him. "Ah, I've got to go. I'll see you later!"

You slide the top layer of the phone down and close the severed connection, chuckling at the black screen before dropping it back to the crevice between your body and the back of the chair. Your eyes are closed for a grand total of seven seconds before it rings again, vibrating against the side of your ribcage. "Hello?" you pick up, without looking at the name.

"Yes, I'm coming, sorry! Just wait a second!" says Changmin's voice to someone else.

"Uh, hello?"

"Oh! Sorry. Junsu-hyung wanted me to tell you that they're going to be a little late because they have to drop off some things at their apartment first. Okay, really got to go this time, bye!" says Changmin so rapidly, that the words must've been exhaled in one continuous breath. The sound of the empty line is ringing in your ears before you even register the words, but when you do you shake your head with a laugh, before continuing to wait.




They hand you the script to the Banjun drama and you laugh because no matter what it implies, the fantasies are so absurdly ridiculous that it is impossible not to. "In here," you read, breathlessly and slightly swooning, while Jaejoong snickers, taking the cue and splaying his hand melodramatically over your chest, tilting his head like an Oscar-winning actress, "Is you."

Jaejoong breaks into laughter when your eyebrows waggle, and he pushes you away until you trip over an iron fold-out chair behind you. You fall in a series of steps – first your backside hits the chair and then you lose your balance and tilt backwards. You end up with your back on the floor and half of your legs tangled in the metal legs.

Cheeky and still snickering, he settles firmly on the offending piece of furniture and makes it multiple times more difficult for you to get out. You manage, eventually, without asking for help due to pride, though you have to take off one shoe to do it, and when you have recovered enough to stand, you frown, rolling one shoulder. Jaejoong immediately stops smiling and rests a tentative hand on your wrist.

"It's nothing," you smile down. "I probably just bumped a shoulder blade."

"Okay," he says slowly, trusting you enough to not press the issue further, though his mouth presses into a line of obvious worry. He stands up when the manager calls his name, touch sliding off the back of your hand, and doesn't look back. The door closes and you walk up to it with a sense of déjà vu as you press your spread fingers on to the wood. You can hear him talking on the other side, a muffled murmur, and if you could've escaped before, you can't anymore, stitches of red string doubling twice over.




In the first of many experimental groups you are thrown into, Kim Jaejoong grins after your introduction and you scowl, thinking he is mocking you merely because he is older, until he corners you in the hallway while you are getting ready to leave. "Hello," you say with the forced politeness of unfamiliarity, when you see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms shoved into the pockets of his shorts.

"Jung Yunho," he repeats your name, testing the weight of the words on his tongue. He apparently likes what he finds, as a small but unguarded smile pulls the corners of his mouth up a fraction. You are struck with a sense of dream-like repetition that nags, but does not make itself any clearer than a faraway calling. "I remember you."

"We only met today," you say, brows furrowing. You hope he is not proud of remembering your name after you had only said it to the makeshift group all of three hours ago. It has been a year since you pressed your ear against a white-painted wall, and you have become taller. Kim Jaejoong has also grown, the line of his jaw emerging from the traces of babyish roundness that cling to his face.

He is a very good-looking child, but the expressions he makes are always secretive and private, long eyelashes lowering onto pale skin. The otherworldliness makes it distant, and in effect somewhat cold and unreachable. Kim Jaejoong shakes his head, looking up to meet your eyes. He realizes now that he has been forgotten, and whatever he was going to say dies on the tip of his tongue. "Sorry, I was blocking your way."

He sidesteps you to grab his own belongings; you can see the hint of movement in your periphery. "Are you hungry?" you ask, hearing him turn. It becomes suddenly and surprisingly impossible for you to walk away alone. "Do you want to get something to eat together?"




The foremost matter of priority after your first concert is water. Your bangs are matted to your forehead and the back of your T-shirt to your spine but your mouth is so dry you feel as though you could cough up sand. After that, you join the collective roar of happiness backstage, slapping people's backs until you've lost track of the faces. You are sure that you've hugged the rest of Dong Bang Shin Ki at least five times, but when someone grabs your hand and you turn to find Jaejoong beaming, it feels like the first time you've seen him offstage all night.

"I was looking for you!" he yells, because otherwise it'd be impossible to hear him over the din. You collapse into each other until you are sure that he is the only thing keeping you standing. You are both disgusting and sweaty, but he still presses his face into your shoulder as he laughs, open-mouthed, and you laugh too, dizzy with success and adrenaline from the performance.

Eventually, Junsu and Yoochun find you, wrapping themselves around either side and locking their hands together to complete the circle. When Changmin stumbles in, he whines half-heartedly about not waiting for him, before he all but jumps on the group, almost knocking you down. Jaejoong is in the middle of it, and he whimpers out a comical plea for breathing space.

You spread out but not apart, hands still clasping at each other despite turning to acknowledge passing encouragement and praise. Jaejoong laces your fingers together on your left and Changmin has your sleeve fisted on your right, Junsu's high-pitched laughter and Yoochun's boisterous grin in your direct line of sight, and you think, Oh, if we could stay like this I would never ask for anything ever again.




Your manager tells you about the planned dissolution months before your final collective appearance, and the knowledge is taxing. That night, dinner is silent and heavy in Your apartment kitchen, and it is all you can do to push the mouthfuls of food down your throat and into your upturning stomach. At eleven-thirty-three you lay down and all you can feel past the numbness is the beating of your own heart.

You do not register the creaking of springs, and do not realize that Jaejoong has moved at all until you feel the arm that has been hanging off the edge of the mattress lift. Turning to the side you see Jaejoong staring into the ceiling again, his hand wrapped around your fingers and suspended in the narrow space between your beds.

Slowly you tighten the loose grasp, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. Jaejoong faces the roof when he smiles, but he is smiling at you. This change, you steel yourself, for your sake, for his sake, and for the other three's sake, is just a change, but it does not and cannot affect anything that the five of You are. So even if in the future, you are forced to introduce yourself as, "Jung Yunho," everyone hears it anyway.

I am U-know Yunho, I am Hero Jaejoong, I am Xiah Junsu, I am Max Changmin, I am Micky Yoochun, of Dong Bang Shin Ki.




Because you are both proud and a little arrogant, you kiss each other irresponsibly – not in public or anything that could tarnish your image, but without understanding what it really means. You are in love without knowing You are in love and as with most ignorance of that type, it is all too easy to just use lust to fill the holes, but every time after You are done and sated, one less flimsy layer of cement remains, and you wonder, what are you doing?

Jaejoong also does not know, because when Your breathing evens and you meet his eyes, he keeps searching and searching without finding every time. "What are you looking for?" you'd like to ask, but you have the sinking feeling that you shouldn't have to. Yoochun and Junsu don't seem to have this problem, but they are not You.

So when the excuses exhaust themselves, Jaejoong stops crawling under your covers and you stop asking him to. You are neither angry at each other nor any less than what You used to be, but everything about the mundaneness leaves you desperately wanting. You would tell him so, because out of the five, you are the most rational, if only you knew, of what.

Changmin watches you whenever his computer system is loading, when he can see Your reflections in the black screen. You don't even notice it until one night, when the other three have yet to return, and you are heating up leftovers in the microwave, the youngest member stirs the cup noodles around with his chopsticks and says, "Hyung." He has The Unhappy Changmin Expression on his face, eyes flat and accusing, one end of his mouth crooked and disapproving. "Stop doing that."

You frown, baffled. "Doing what? Using the microwave?"

Changmin huffs, and takes his cup noodles with him to his own room.




For a few weeks you think that maybe you shouldn't have let it start to begin with. When Jaejoong comes back late from practicing, limbs so sore he would be sluggish tomorrow, and dripping rain because he had forgotten an umbrella, you are furious. You swing open the door before he even finishes putting his key in, snapping, "What time do you think it is?"

Jaejoong steps inside, reaching into his pocket to flip open his cell phone. "One-twenty-nine," he sneezes. You sigh, stomping inside. You see the glow of Changmin’s computer from underneath the door, and remind yourself to scold all three of them for not yet sleeping, because on the way back you hear Junsu sighing to Yoochun, 'Appa and Umma are fighting.'

"What were you doing?" you hiss, throwing the towel over his head and rubbing. He protests, because your movements are too forceful, and he doesn't have the strength to fight it.

"I was practicing," he confesses as you deposit his sleeping clothes on his lap, moving behind him to gently towel the hair on the crown dry. You pause for a moment to let him pull his wet T-shirt over his head and throw it on the floor. It begins to create a little puddle on the hardwood floor, and you realize Jaejoong must have been tired indeed to let that offense pass. "I'll be able to do it now, Yunho-yah," he adds softly, buttoning up the front of the terry-cloth pajamas. "The bridge steps."

You stop.

You scolded him today for being a fraction of a second too slow with that sequence, throwing the symmetry of the entire group off, and you thought he hadn't even heard you, because he just left the room afterwards. You heart lurches half-way into your throat, and you throw the towel so that it covers his face, before leaning down and pressing your forehead against his nape. "Sorry," you whisper. "Sorry, Jaejoong-ah."

He lifts his hands, pulling the towel away from his mouth, turns, and inevitably kisses you for the first time.




"Stuck with you again, huh?" Jaejoong says by means of greeting, meeting your grin for grin at the start of another promotional test group. You reach out and he claps his hand against it as he slips between you and another boy to sit. There really isn't enough space on the short bench, and he ends up half-sitting on you.

"Must be my bad luck," you respond, watching as the other two turn to look at the newcomer with appraising glances. They realize, quickly, something you have known for years more than you realize: Kim Jaejoong is both beautiful and amazing, and regardless of how this match-up turns out, he will make it. "My sisters told me to say to you for them," he adds, wrinkling his nose. "They think you're cute."

You chuckle at both his face and the relayed image. Jaejoong's eight sisters came as quite a bundle, and while you love your own sister dearly, you were suddenly glad that you are the oldest sibling, when you stepped into his house and walked into the living room to see more female faces turned to you than you had ever seen in one room at once.

You are told to introduce yourselves, and you do it with the ease that comes with practice. "I am Jung Yunho," you say, taking the initiative to begin the round, and the other boys that you don't recognize smile a little in relief, quietly thanking you for breaking the ice. Jaejoong watches you, but is not really listening, having heard it before. "Sixteen years old, and..."

"Kim Jaejoong's best friend," Jaejoong interrupts, beginning his own introduction. You smile and shake your head at the others' apparent horror at the rudeness, before they realize that this is only natural, and, with a glance between the two of you, that wherever Kim Jaejoong goes in the future, you won't be far behind.




The phone rings again, and you catch a glimpse of the time (three-fifty-seven) on the wall before you drag it up to your ear. It's been two and a half hours since Changmin called. "Yunho-hyung!" greets Junsu on the other end, still cheery enough for the sun to be shamed – a little too cheery for a groggy man who had just woken up from a nap, but you already learned how to take it in stride when you lived together. "Did Changmin call?"

"Yeah," you answer, nodding as you pushed yourself to your elbows and then upright. You roll your head, easing the kink out of your neck, as you make your way to the kitchen. "He called a few hours ago and told me, don't worry about it. How's the recording going?"

"It's going great!" chirped Junsu, suddenly breaking into a fit of giggles. He holds the phone away from his mouth and covers it with his palm in order to tell Yoochun to stop distracting him while he was on the phone with their leader, to which a completely unapologetic reply is made, and you hear the entire exchange pass with a sort of nostalgic fondness.

Junsu, with that voice, of course became a solo artist. Yoochun, dashing like a prince with a low bass-baritone that sent women swooning, regardless of age, became an actor. A year or so ago, you were costars in some romantic drama, and of course, he got the girl in the end just like when you were young, cast in flashy Banjun dramas that were more advertisement than substance. He teased you about it until you threatened to tell his 'wife.'

"Sorry," Junsu apologized, once he had Yoochun apparently in control. "Anyway, we'll try not to be too late. See you later!"

"Bye," you say, just as the sound of the front door opening reaches your ears.




It is not that either of you did anything wrong; in fact it is not a matter of doing something at all, but rather what you did not do. You get up in the middle of the night and sit on the edge of Jaejoong's bed. His eyes are closed but he is not sleeping, because his brow dips when he feels the uneven weight. "What's wrong, Yunho-yah?" he asks, keeping his voice low and opening his eyes to slide dark eyes towards you.

You move a hand from your lap to his stomach, where his hands are folded together, and slip your fingers between his. They are a little cold, and they jump when you make contact with them. "Yunho-yah," he frowns, looking down, "I don’t..."

"No, I just," you say, stumbling over the words because they are the hardest you have ever had to say. You frown, tightening your hold and meeting his eyes with trembling determination. "I just want to do this. Just this – I won't do anything else. Let me." Your gazes lock and you recognize the way his eyes are wide and still, boring into you and looking for something that is, this time, there. He blinks, as if realizing he had been even in search at all, and the tension in his arms relaxes, pressing the base of your palm to his.

"Okay," he says, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. He smiles at you before he closes his eyes, and framed by moonlight, falls asleep.

In the morning you wake up first, and with great reluctance pry yourself from where you ended up curled around Jaejoong in order to carry out the first of your responsibilities as leader. When the other three are crowding into the bathroom to brush their teeth, you finally return to Jaejoong's side, bending over with your hands pressed to the pillow beside his head to press your lips to his forehead. "Ugh," says Jaejoong uncooperatively, rolling over.

"If you wake up, I'll tell you that I love you," you say into his ear.

Junsu, Changmin and Yoochun were too drowsy to even notice the change in mood when you shook them awake, but at breakfast they all cast sly smiles at each other knowingly and throw thumbs-ups at you behind Jaejoong's back.




The first Monday after Dong Bang Shin Ki is ended publically, You spend packing. There is no longer reason for SM Entertainment to keep the five of you together under one roof, and as you fold sheets into uneven rectangles and take down the pictures from the shelves, no one says a thing. Box after cardboard box stacks up in the space between the hallway and the living room, partially blocking the entrance to the kitchen, and with each box Your home becomes barer.

At one point you hear Junsu start crying in the other room, and you share a glance with Jaejoong before you both go to help Yoochun rub his back. Changmin, youngest and trying to be brave, tells Junsu, "It's okay, hyung, we'll see each other all the time," but the words are desperate and he is blinking too often for his eyes to be dry.

"We will," says Jaejoong, soft but strong, and you turn to look at him. His eyes move from each member's face and finally settles on you. "We will," and this time it's a promise, you realize. He just needs you to agree, to confirm it and set it in stone, because you are the leader after all, and if you give the call, they will follow. That's the way it goes; the way it's always been. "Right, Yunho-yah?"

Junsu stops shaking, and with Yoochun hovering protectively over his shoulder, he looks hopefully at you. Changmin also cranes his neck, kneeling on the floor where his height doesn't matter, and as you find yourself looking down at these four boys under your care, you've never been so sure in your entire life. "Of course," you say, this time sewing You together of your own accord, "Of course we will."




You can't even count the number of times you've introduced yourself to new faces on one hand anymore. Jaejoong's smile greets you as you walk in, five minutes late because of traffic, and after you apologize profusely to the manager, he moves his bag from the seat he had saved for you. Three other boys watch you as you settle in with ease next to Jaejoong, and draw their own conclusions.

"My name is Jung Yunho," you start.

Shin Changmin is youngest, and when he smiles one eye scrunches up more than the other. He is nervous but speaks in a voice full of modest confidence, and he introduces himself last, bowing his head respectfully every time someone addresses him. When he laughs, he throws his head back and staggers, hands raised to his chest as if to cover his open mouth but never quite getting there.

Kim Junsu is small and petite, and he looks like the sort of kid you can't help but spoil. He introduces himself before Changmin, hands clasped together and eyes fixed on the floor until he remembers that he should be facing people when he talks. He speaks with a light, airy voice that is your only hint of the stunning singing power behind it until you hear him test it out later, when it will leave you breathless.

Park Yoochun tells you that he is from America, and that they have the most disgustingly amazing hamburgers there. He is perhaps the most anxious out of all of You, afraid that You won't accept a foreign addition, but he has the natural grace of a people-charmer, and it is no wonder that he was chosen by SM Entertainment. He introduces himself after Jaejoong, and makes light jokes as he speaks to ease the tension.

"Then let's work hard," you say, smiling at them and they smile in return.




You slip the phone into your back pocket with a tin of ground coffee in your other hand. The front door closes just as you fish the coffeemaker from one of the top shelves, and someone wraps his arms around your waist from behind. The offender is chilly to the touch, after having come from outside, and a shiver runs down your frame. The microwave reads four-oh-three, and you turn around in the embrace after setting the hardware down just to say, "You said four, so you're late!"

Jaejoong twists his head to look at the clock himself. "I must've taken my time getting up those stairs," he says, smiling as you unwrap the muffler from around his neck and, hanging it over your shoulder, unzip his coat. Your hands slide under the lapels and push the heavy material off his shoulders, catching it before it falls to the ground.

He resumes your coffee endeavor while you hang his clothing in the closet. "Did you just wake up?" he asks incredulously, waiting for the water to boil. "You slept until four?"

"No, I took a nap," you answer, smiling as you press your face into the space beneath the side of his jaw. He tilts his head at the obstruction and raps a metal spoon on your head until you draw away, scowling. "Junsu and Yoochun are coming late, just to let you know," you say, rubbing the sore skin gingerly, "they said they had to drop off some things before coming."

"How about Changmin?" Jaejoong asks, reaching up to cup your face. He pulls you down and kisses the offended area lightly, smirking at your grin.

"Changmin's coming on time," you respond, steadily advancing until the back of his waist hits the counter, and smugly, you bend him slightly backwards over it, one arm hooked around his torso for support. He slips a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you down when he has had enough dallying, and your mouths lock together, perfectly.

Changmin arrives just on time. The other two knock on your door eighteen minutes later, and while you are all laughing around a small round table as the food on the plates between you disappear, you toast to accomplishments both great and small, current and future and past. The hours draw late and Yoochun carries Junsu on his back to their car while Changmin and Jaejoong follow, just in case.

You are piling used dishes back into the sink when someone knocks at the door, and you laugh when Jaejoong says embarrassedly, "Yunho-yah! I locked myself out by mistake!" This time, the wall separating You is not so formidable, and you open the door.