
Yunho hums to himself as he moves around, putting the final touches to his surprise. Once he's done, he steps back slightly, smiling to himself as he takes in the little folding table, snowy tablecloth and single rose like it's been transplanted from a proper restaurant, covered dishes on another table to the side, and beyond it city lights as far as the eye can see. He feels maybe a little ridiculous, but he also thinks it'll be worth it as long as Changmin likes it.
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A text to youthful_image:
Happy anniversary, Changminah. Meet me on the roof?
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Yunho hums to himself as he walks to the workroom, hurrying slightly because he has to finish setting up a couple of things before Changmin gets there. Once he gets there, he puts the last few things in their places, then settles on the piano bench to wait, fingers laced together to keep himself from fiddling with nerves, hoping Changmin will like what he's got ready.
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| 2009-02-18 10:56 |
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Happy birthday, Changminah! :))
♥
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Yunho starts to leave his room, then turns back to his still only half-unpacked bag, grabbing a notebook before he leaves, too fast to allow any second thoughts. In front of Jaejoong's door, he doesn't let himself pause before he knocks on the door, trying not to think too much as he waits for Jaejoong to answer.
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Yunho takes a couple of moments to collect himself before he leaves his room. It feels like forever since he's seen any of the others, even though it's only been a few weeks. Eventually, though, he walks down the corridor to Yoochun's room, hesitating a second before he taps quietly on the door.
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Happy birthday, Jaejoongah. Hope it's a great one, and you found your present okay.
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Going away for a little while. I'll be back when I'm back, I guess.
Jaejoong, if I'm not back for your birthday, happy birthday and your present is in my bottom dresser drawer. Do not open it before.
Changminah and Yoochunah, 'm sorry for disappearing on you like this when you've just got back.
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For Changmin: A card; inside a booking confirmation for a private room in one of Seoul's nicer restaurants.
For Jaejoong: A book of IOUs - washing up and back rubs and breakfasts in bed.
For Yoochun: A wall-mounting size framed photograph of a particular beach in Bora Bora, just after sunrise.
(And other assorted bits and pieces all round.)
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Yunho's a little nervous, a lot excited, as he packs a bag with essentials for the weekend. Management's been negotiated with, the others have been told, and now he's going to get to see the house. He takes a deep breath as he zips up his bag, then walks down the corridor to tap on Jaejoong's door.
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Yunho's more than a little worried after where Jaejoong said he was, and he barely waits a second after knocking on the bedroom door to push it open. "Jaejoong?" he calls quietly, walking over to tap gently at the closet door.
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Yunho's at the piano, playing odd phrases and jotting lyrics. If Jaejoong'd asked, he'd have said he was just tinkering, but it's the melody Jaejoong'd played for him in Bora Bora that's in his head most of the time, and it's the memory of their holiday that's making him smile between half-sung phrases.
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Learning to love differently is hard, love with the hands wide open, love with the doors banging on their hinges, the cupboard unlocked, the wind roaring and whimpering in the rooms rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds that thwack like rubber bands in an open palm.
It hurts to love wide open stretching the muscles that feel as if they are made of wet plaster, then of blunt knives, then of sharp knives.
It hurts to thwart the reflexes of grab, of clutch; to love and let go again and again. It pesters to remember the lover who is not in the bed, to hold back what is owed to the work that gutters like a candle in a cave without air, to love consciously, conscientiously, concretely, constructively.
I can't do it, you say it's killing me, but you thrive, you glow on the street like a neon raspberry, You float and sail, a helium balloon bright bachelor's button blue and bobbing on the cold and hot winds of our breath, as we make and unmake in passionate diastole and systole the rhythm of our unbound bonding, to have and not to hold, to love with minimized malice, hunger and anger moment by moment balanced.
(ooc: To Have Without Holding; Marge Piercy)
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Yunho's on the bed in the room he shares with Changmin, propped against the headboard with his ankles crossed and his laptop on a pillow over his thighs. He glances up occasionally to look at the view through the windows, a content smile on his face as he waits for Changmin.
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