dbsk_flashfic | Injudiciousness (response to flashfic challenge 15: Mayakovsky)

Title: Injudiciousness
Pairing: JaeSu
Rating: PG
Word count: 480
Concrit: Please.

Junsu doesn’t think much of JaeJoong when they first meet. He sees cold crystal, hard and foreboding, and the stylish attire and alluring air doesn’t spike his interest in the least.

JaeJoong’s voice is nice, his falsettos are on point and smooth as they echo from his mouth. He can go high and low, his vibrato is soft and when he does that growl it makes the hairs on Junsu’s neck rise. But JaeJoong’s voice is nothing more than nice, Junsu has heard better (he thinks to say his own, but holds his words and smiles politely), and so JaeJoong is appointed lead vocalist and Junsu’s heart chips.

JaeJoong cooks. He wears a grin as he shuffles around their kitchen in a bright red apron and the sounds of pans and utensils fill the small cooking space, it cheers the others up (but then again, anything having to do food, cheers Changmin up). Junsu picks at his meal, noticing only vaguely that it is his favorite dish (that’s all they seem to have these days, his favorites). JaeJoong cooks, but he is no chef.

JaeJoong is loud; with his weird laughs and random bursts of energy. Junsu doesn’t really listen to half of what his eldest hyung says, and the other half just seems like meaningless rubbish (something about how Junsu’s voice is angelic).

“You know,” Junsu looks up through his bangs, his fingers dancing as he buttons up his shirt. “He tries really hard to make you like him.”

Silk isn’t Junsu’s favorite material, always tight and movement-limiting; but it looks too good on him to request another outfit.

“Who?” Yunho follows him to the mirror, the leader’s hands are on his hips, and it reminds Junsu of his mother.

“JaeJoong,” Junsu’s eyes meet Yunho’s and tries not to show how much he doesn't care, half a second and then he is alone with himself and his thoughts (of reflection and guilt that Junsu would never admit to).

“Junsu-ah,” He doesn’t like how good his name sounds on JaeJoong’s lips, hates the way it rolls off his tongue in a murmur that is almost too quiet for him to hear.

“Yes, hyung?” It is harder than it should be to slip in the honorific, minding Yunho’s words and replaying them in his head while he gazes at the older boy.

Things flash in JaeJoong’s eyes and Junsu watches with mild interest; hesitance, fear, hurt, defeat. The lead vocalist shifts his weight, his lip between his teeth as he fidgets with the hem of his shirt – silk, Junsu notes.

“Never mind,” Junsu just shrugs (ignores the display of in-depth emotion in dark orbs) and invades his ears with his headphones.

He turns his back on JaeJoong, skipping Insa and listening to Free Your Mind instead, as he walks out the door (leaving behind heart fragments and tear stained cheeks).

Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.