4. There is no good way to say, “I love you.”
Jaejoong prefers letting the others speak for him. His words always come out wrong; they twist in his throat or get lost on the path from his mind to his mouth. He wishes it were simpler. He wishes there was a way for thoughts to just be sent from one person to another. “Like e-mails,” he explains, and Yunho laughs at his innocence.
“But you can censor yourself in emails. You can’t censor thoughts,” he says as he follows Jaejoong into the balcony, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the three sleeping individuals in the room behind him.
Jaejoong doesn’t respond. He walks across the width of the small area, stopping just short of the railing, and takes in the sight of the nocturnal city around him, bustling and still so alive despite the thick darkness. From behind, Yunho rests his chin on his shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist; in the back of Jaejoong’s mind, he wonders why the gesture isn’t more awkward.
“What are you thinking right now?” Yunho asks, his voice just above a whisper.
“Why?” Jaejoong asks back, but it comes out wrong, sounds more alarmed than he meant it to.
“I was only asking,” Yunho replies with a hint of defense. “It’s just… difficult, sometimes, to know what you’re thinking. Your face doesn’t give much away, and a lot of times you seem so distant. Like anyone who talks to you is intruding on something…”
As Yunho trails off, something in Jaejoong’s chest sinks. Intruding. The word makes him feel empty. He feels Yunho’s arms tighten slightly around him and realizes that the other is waiting for a response.
“I was thinking…” Jaejoong starts after a long pause, opting to avoid Yunho’s analysis of him, “…I was thinking that the two of us are very close.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”
Jaejoong rolls his eyes and Yunho chuckles. “No, seriously. We’re very very very very close to each other. More than just best friends. It’s like the two of us are… are…” Jaejoong scrunches his eyebrows in frustration. He can’t think of the right words; his mind is a blank.
“Pretend you’re sending an e-mail,” Yunho says with a smile. Jaejoong lifts his hands in imitation of typing and Yunho laughs softly.
“It’s like…” Jaejoong tries again, letting his hands drop, “The two of us are somehow… essential to each other, you know? As if we couldn’t function through everything, through all this,” Jaejoong gestures at the city before them, although he’s not sure why, “…without each other. Yunho, shouldn’t it feel uncomfortable when you hold me like this? But it doesn’t.”
Jaejoong pauses and listens for a reaction. Yunho says nothing.
“Isn’t that kind of… unusual?” Jaejoong continues. “Aren’t we unusual? It seems not normal to be this way with each other. All five of us are close, but the two of us… we’re different. We have a different kind of closeness. You said that it’s difficult for you to know what I’m thinking, but I don’t think that’s true. Not for you, anyway. It’s like… we can understand each other without even really being aware of it. And… and I rely on you so much that it scares me.” Jaejoong ends so softly that he isn’t sure if Yunho hears him, even with their proximity.
Jaejoong stops, not knowing what else to say. Minutes pass by in deep silence, Yunho very, very still all the while, as if frozen by his words. His unresponsiveness frustrates Jaejoong more than it should, until he can’t wait any longer. Baby steps, he thinks and turns within the circle of Yunho’s arms to face him, their chests mere inches apart. “And what about you? Do you think this is… wrong?”
Yunho remains silent, but Jaejoong can see his reply; something in Yunho’s eyes captivates him even more than the twinkling city lights from moments ago.
Jaejoong reaches out and timidly places his hands on the other’s arms, feeling firm muscle under the thin fabric of his sleeves, and it spurs Yunho into action; he leans forward, close enough so that Jaejoong can feel his breaths warm his skin, and tenderly presses his lips to the side of his neck. Yunho travels upward and makes a slow trail across the curve of the other’s jaw, gaining confidence when Jaejoong trembles from the touch but does not object. He brushes his lips gently against Jaejoong’s before fully taking them, and quicker than Jaejoong can protest, Yunho uses his weight to push him against the balcony railing, the metal digging into the back of his waist. Jaejoong’s lips part slightly from the force of it, and Yunho deepens the kiss without waiting for permission.
Yunho gasps his name when they separate, Jaejoong-ah; says it again under his breath when he leans his forehead against Jaejoong’s cheek, the word washing over the still-sensitive skin of his neck. Jaejoong-ah. Yunho says his name as if it were a plea, spoken with such frightening intensity that it makes something in Jaejoong snap.
“Stop it,” he blurts out, but it comes out wrong again; the words sound like an accusation.
Yunho tenses and cautiously draws back, stares at him with heated, piercing eyes, and Jaejoong doesn’t know why, but the desperation he sees in Yunho now frightens him more than anything he’s ever known. “Stop it,” Jaejoong whispers, voice fading partway. Yunho’s expression hardens, then.
“You were wrong, Jae. I really don’t understand you,” he says in the smallest of voices, then steps away, gaze fixed on the ground. A million thoughts flit through Jaejoong’s mind: I’m scared, I’m pathetic, and most of all I’m sorry, but the look on Yunho’s face (distant, cold, ashamed) makes his chest ache. The thoughts are left unsaid; they die in his throat.
Jaejoong searches through the scramble of letters in his head. “I ____ you.” There’s a gap in his thoughts where a word should be, and he wonders if Yunho will wait long enough for him to find it.
