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27 February 2011 @ 03:08 am
Title: Madness
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,695
Pairing: Mild Yoseob/everyone (fantasy), mild Yoseob/Doojoon
Summary: Yoseob is afraid of what he feels.
Notes: amnos1999 assures me that this is good (she assured me in Japanese, even!) - despite the fact that I wrote it at 2 in the morning and I've been going through sporadic writer's block lately and wow, angst, what's up with that?

He has to be dressed and ready to leave in thirty minutes. He can’t take his time, he can’t think – not that he wants to. He has one hand around his cock, slick from the water, and the other pressed right next to the shower head, supporting him as he leans forward, letting his head drop down and feeling the warmth at the back of his neck. He doesn’t want to think. He wants this pleasure to be over with, the persistent hard-on he’d awoken with to be gone. He doesn’t want to remember the dream, the flashes of hot, hard skin, the defined abs and the muscled arms and –

The harder he tries not to think about it, however, the more the subject comes to mind, and it brings him closer to the edge. His hand speeds up – his palm slips on the surface of the shower wall – there’s banging on the door, Kikwang yelling, “Yoseobie?” and he’s coming.

He swallows thickly through the tears threatening to well up and tells himself It’s unrelated, like the thought of Kikwang’s skin and the sound Kikwang’s voice hadn’t set him off. He yells back, “Just a minute!” and his voice sounds hoarse enough that Kikwang actually listens. Yoseob can’t hear his retreating footsteps over the sound of the water but he imagines them, imagines him padding away, scratching at his bare belly, his muscles flexing.

For just a brief moment, Yoseob can imagine himself gripping that arm, those muscles. He can imagine himself biting at Kikwang’s belly, one early morning exactly like this. He can see it all, and maybe it’s just vivid because it’s an exact replica of his dream, and maybe he’s sick, twisted, but –

He doesn’t want to think of that. What he does want to think of is – girls. He wants a girlfriend to coddle him and make him lunches and call him oppa and giggle at his jokes and comfort him when he’s so close to breaking down from stress and lingering sickness that he can’t keep up the façade anymore.

He wants that, but only because he doesn’t want that.

Yoseob likes layers of clothing. It’s a sort of protection from the world, though that information is for him only, and the rest of the guys don’t question it. Doojoon hands him a hoodie, a baggy t-shirt, a thick jacket – whatever it is, Doojoon knows him well enough to know that he needs it. And he does need it, because as much as he likes people looking at him, he’s always wary of what they might see. What does he look like to them? How do they perceive him? How much of him is laid out for all eyes? What can he hide?

Whatever he’s showing, he wants it to be something he means to be seen.

So glimpses of skin for the fans – that’s controlled. He takes his wardrobe and knows beforehand if anything is bared and lifts his shirt of his own will and he does it.

Sometimes he wishes he had something that could cover up his throat. He clings to clothing so very desperately already, but he figures that wearing scarves would offset it, tip it over into wow, weird and not aw, endearing. One of the things he needs to work for him is the cuteness. He has to have that, because if he does, people will look – but they won’t look too closely. It’s enough for them; there’s no need to prod further than he allows them, because a pout will derail any of that pondering, and a smile will create speechlessness.

He figures, though, drawing unwanted attention to himself would be counterproductive, no matter how much he wants to cover his neck.

Dreams, though – they’re safe in the way that everything too dangerous for real life plays out in the privacy of his own mind, where no one can see except him.

It’s where he finds himself with Junhyung, Junhyung buckling a wide collar around his neck. It’s loose, and probably looks a bit ridiculous, but Yoseob can’t think to complain. He knows it’s a dream, somewhere in the back of his mind – Junhyung doesn’t even have a face, just a hazy blur, but the hands feel familiar. He knows those hands. They’re always touching him, driving him crazy. He wants to be held in those hands. He wants to stop thinking about those hands.

He wakes up sticky and grabbing at his neck, gasping for breath, heart pounding hard in his chest. Doojoon has crossed over into his bunk already, desperately attempting to wrench his fingers from around his throat, whispering, “Yoseobie, Yoseobie, it was just a nightmare, just a nightmare.”

If he, or any of the others, notices the distinctly sexual smell – drying come, that can’t be pleasant – they don’t mention it.

He’s exhausted with everything, really. He’s tired of smiling when he doesn’t want to and he’s tired of not wanting to. He likes being happy – he loves it. The others know and try their best to keep him happy, because admittedly, he’s not pleasant when he isn’t. But he can’t keep doing this, not when he just wants to sleep deep enough to forget any dreams he might have.

Doojoon mothers him, even more so than Junhyung does, and it confuses Yoseob. He remembers the old days of touching and laughing and back then, it was nothing. It was nothing until it was something, Yoseob blushing at the thoughts of Maybe more and hating himself for it. Distance became necessary for him and he doesn’t know when they stopped touching.

But Doojoon is always there. If he’s not right beside Yoseob, he’s still looking, watching. It’s probably why he’s the one that catches Yoseob when he suddenly becomes lightheaded during practice and can’t make his legs work properly to keep him standing.

“Seobie?” Doojoon asks as the others crowd around, but Yoseob’s vision is swimming and he takes the easiest route – closing his eyes and letting unconsciousness overwhelm him.

Dreaming – he doesn’t think he dreams, this time. But he feels. He’s not far enough for sleep, not close enough to open his eyes, but he feels someone – Doojoon? – touching him, checking his forehead for temperature and his wrist for pulse and later, gently settling Yoseob’s head onto his lap in the car.

No one says anything about it. No one in the band, at least – their managers frown and tell him to take care of himself and he overhears them telling the others, as well. Plenty of rest – and Vitamins, fluids – but it doesn’t feel real.

No one says anything about it. It doesn’t feel real.

In his dreams, he’s twisting. His heart is twisting in his hand and he feels light, airy, almost as if he could fly. He does, then, because he can – he can. He sees Hyunseung next to him and smiles, and it feels real – he feels real again, he’s there, he’s alive.

But he drops and Hyunseung doesn’t catch him in time and he wakes up to the feeling of hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

Two days later, he finally makes it out of bed without tripping or giving up halfway out or anything. He’s been using Junhyung’s because they don’t want him on the top, and he understands though he hopes they let him back in his own bed before anything embarrassing happens.

He tiptoes into the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the wall and noticing that it’s four AM and no one else should be awake, though the light is on and Dongwoon is sitting at the table.

“Hey,” Dongwoon says, and then, “I missed you.”

Yoseob never went anywhere. He’s been there all along. He wants to say that, but then he remembers that he’s the one that stopped their late night snacking together, he’s the one who started saying No, no, I’m too tired, not hungry, he’s the one who dropped weight and stiffened up and faked smiling.

“Sorry,” he says, though of all the things he could be apologizing for, he thinks it’s mostly for leaving Dongwoon alone. Dongwoon gets lonely more than he does, sometimes. Yoseob doesn’t know if he’s confused, though. Yoseob is confused. He wants to press Dongwoon against the counter and pull down his sweatpants and breathe into the muscles of his thigh and –

And this is why Yoseob stopped in the first place. Because he’s so, so confused.

“Sorry,” Dongwoon says back, smiling.

Yoseob wonders What for? He knows it isn’t an apology for being so damn tempting, so damn baffling. He knows, but he wants – he wants –

He wants someone else to know.

He shuffles over to the fridge and contemplates its contents and sighs.

In the end, he’s lost. He knows what he wants and he knows how unacceptable it is. He knows the lust and the love and the fear and the turmoil isn’t about to go away, because he’s tried everything he could and that’s just complicated things further.

He wants someone else to know.

They coddle him. They pet him and they surround him and they touch him and they smile at him. They say Yoseobie, and they let him touch them just as much as they touch him and he’s so very, very tired of it all. He’s tired of feeling ashamed for being happy.

The mirror isn’t about to lie to him – it tells him straight up that he looks like shit. He looks like he’s about to keel over dead. He blinks hard and faces himself, staring and licking his dry lips.

Someone knocks on the bathroom door. He doesn’t look to see who – instead of letting him in, he pulls him in.

“Yoseobie –”

Doojoon sounds questioning but not confused, and he huffs out a laugh against Yoseob’s lips.

Moments later, Doojoon is pulling away, Yoseob’s bottom lip slipping from between his teeth, and he realizes – they’re both smiling.

There’s muffled laughter outside of the door and Doojoon says, “Yeah,” and, “You’re okay,” and, to the others, “He’s okay.”

And Yoseob, for the first time in a long time, feels okay.
i'd look best if i weren't looking at allyayhooraywoohoo on March 4th, 2011 08:01 pm (UTC)
Thank you!