footprints 1/?
Title: footprints
Author: ajin
Pairing: Junhyung/Hyunseung
Rating: PG (will most likely change later)
Genre: AU, Romance
Word Count: 1,585
Summary: Life is but a dream and since there are no rules in dreams, anything can happen also in life.
Author's Note of Doom: This fic already has a whole history and it's been only like 3 weeks -_-' I've started it on a whim after spamming krissasaur with Junhyung. Then, I saw a certain photo on weheartit and fell in love with it and just had to write. My tlist probably knows it as that #foreveralone fic. Since I want to finish it, I'll be posting a part of it here. I have another fic in process and really when I update this one will solely depend on inspiration and the response it gets. I still haven't decided which fic is going to get the priority after all.
The only reason I haven't abanoned this yet is this song. I'm forever unable to write unless I find the perfect song :/
For harkk because she loves my Junseung more than I do and she's my amazing baby unicorn ( ´・‿-) ~ ♥
He has been finding them ever since last month. Small and perfectly cut, always in different colours. They’re all over his apartment, in every room and every corner. He has even found a few in the main street two blocks away. Once noticed a bright red one in the tube on the tracks before the train came and took it away.
Normally they bring a smile to his face. It’s nothing like his usual strained one. It’s spontaneous and bright. He’s not in the mood today though. The lyrics he was supposed to complete are still lying on his desk half-finished and gathering dust. His girlfriend decided she no longer wants to meet with him. And there was a whole list of complains about how he is never there, forgets about the anniversaries, doesn’t really listen, is not even in love with her. He himself is sure he still loves her very much (he can’t help that he’s been distracted by everything and nothing lately) but it didn’t seem to matter in the slightest.
So when he finds a pile of paper hearts on his table, he explodes. It’s as fast as spontaneous combustion. Before he knows it, he has thrown them all around. Splashes of bright colours now flying about.
Later when he thinks about it, he remembers that he thought he heard a sound like a muffled squeak. A figment of his imagination.
It doesn’t stop. They still follow him everywhere like an annoying puppy. He thinks it was some time after the second week it has been happening. On a strange impulse he decided to put all of them in one jar. It was a big, transparent one that he used to store his mum’s kimchi in. Made the paper hearts smell like a mixture of red pepper paste and cabbage. So very familiar. The jar was full after four days though. Still stands proudly on one of the top shelves in the kitchen above the stove. A rainbow caught between the grey utensils.
He’s not amused when he slips on three yellow hearts on Monday morning. He’s already late and knows that his current employee is not going to be happy. The moment he lands on his butt hard, all he wants to do is scream in frustration and tear everything in sight. He can swear he heard giggling in the background.
He’s vary of them the whole day. Looks around like he’s paranoid and scans every inch of the pavement. Makes a few children run away (and an elderly couple and some teenage girl) with his dark glare.
He finally spots one when he’s cleaning dishes in the kitchen. The sun is shining brightly through the window, breaking on the glass and putting a brilliant rainbow on the window sill. They lie in a perfect row starting from yellow and finishing on brown. Just next to the tall pale blue vase with the barely alive tulips he bought last week on a whim. They’re yellow but the ends of their petals are turning warm brown. He can hear his breath get caught.
It takes good three months for him to start wondering who might be leaving all those paper hearts. By then he’s convinced there must be a concrete, human being behind it. Although he can’t explain why his doors are never unlocked and nothing in his apartment ever moved. Although it makes no sense for them to appear before him the second he looks down at the ground. So to distract himself from the grey reality that has been threatening to consume him lately, he comes up with a plan.
The first time he leaves a bright pink post-it on the fridge doors, he’s met with silence. The black letters stare at him mockingly for three days straight. The hearts still appearing with increasing frequency.
On the fourth day he comes home completely wasted. It’s impossibly dark outside. There’s not even one star in sight and the wind is crashing against his windows. As if it’s trying to move the whole building. Memories of the Wizard of Oz. But he’s just too smashed.
He doesn’t even want to think how many times he was met with a wall today. His equilibrium is lacking and he’s suddenly so sure he’s not alone. Still, there’s no one beside him.
When he wakes up, it feels like his world is shaking. There’s an army of needles marching up and down his spine. His legs are heavy and he barely manages to drag himself out of bed. Bumps into the door twice while going for the nearest pain killers. Even in this half-drugged state he still notices the pink post-it sitting smugly on the fridge doors. Looking just a tad different from the last time he has seen it. Somehow much more black.
Who are you?
Take a guess?
If he were sober, he might have been able to hit the fridge (out of frustration). His fist however collides with the cold tiles. It’s not exactly painless. He gives up and decides to just spend the rest of the day in bed.
It goes more or less like this:
An annoying minx.
You’re pretty close.
Fuck you. Stop putting those paper hearts all over my place.
I’d have considered it if you said please.
What do you want from me?
Do I need to want something?
You’d bloody better have a reason.
Who knows? I might.
He rips them all off. He’s so angry he can feel himself shake. And there are unmistakable giggles accompanying his little stunt.
“At least show yourself!”
The only answer he gets is the paper hearts spiraling down from above him. Just like rainbow snow. Quite pretty.
After the accident, he pretends he can’t see them. Even when they’re lying in the snow all red. Creating a scene out of a fairy tale. Even when they’re purple and stuck to the long salmon pink curtains in his living room. Like roses. Even when they make his heart thump.
When he runs out of the pink post-its, he automatically goes to the supermarket nearby and buys a whole pack. It’s so big it could last him a good few months. He’s stubborn though. They stay on his desk near the horribly used and broken pencils overlooking the scenery outside.
He’s been trying to organize everything in his life. He’s taking each thing and putting it on display. Looking and labeling. Creating small shelves inside. He tucks his worries there and numbers them. Starting from 5. It’s still a mess though because humans don’t work in a logical way. The more he categorizes his thoughts, the less he’s sure if he’s got the order and the genre right. The songs stop flowing from under his pen. There’s absolutely no magic in how he ponders each sentence, each rhyme, each full stop. It’s a torture but never sweet. Not now.
The pink post-its are nudging his hand. If he looks left from his sheets of paper, they seem to be the only thing around.
It takes three hours but in the end he gives up. He takes the box in his hands and tears the transparent wrapping apart. The blocks of pink fall down. He picks the first one and tears a few post-its out.
Are you human?
Were you ever one?
What does the world look like to you if you’re looking from the window in my kitchen outside?
Do you like music?
How long have you been around?
He feels silly for covering the fridge like this but leaves it be. It’s uncontrolled but somehow it makes him feel so much more alive.
He doesn’t expect straight answers. At least not to all of his questions. The last exchange was vague enough.
He’s slowly approaching another deadline but nothing is coming up. His mind is blank. He’s not even angry anymore. Rather resigned. He knows that if he screws up this time paying the rent may prove to be very hard. Still, he waits for some miracle. A last minute inspiration. The kitchen makes all his thoughts halt.
There’re black letters appearing so slowly. He can see them being written. It’s so bizarre. Mostly because there’s neither a hand nor a pen in sight.
I doubt that.
I might have been but if I were, it must have been a long time ago.
Small and grey but it makes me feel safe. Do you like it?
Yes. You have a nice voice.
A while.
He’s stunned to the extent he just stands there speechless. Then, he grabs the napkins from the kitchen table and scribbles the lyrics down with the broken pencil he has been holding in his hand. About rainbows, magical black letters, abrupt goodbyes and self-mending hearts.
They start to appear one at a time. He tries to find a pattern (blue on Monday, red on Wednesday and yellow on Sunday night). After two weeks he realizes there’s none. He almost wants to ask the paper-hearts person about it but ends up doing something different with the post-its pile.
I like it at night. Have you noticed how beautiful the view is then?
You’re right.
Don’t think you’ll hear me sing again.
Are you embarrassed?
A while?
Yes, a while.
I’m not embarrassed!
Of course you're not.
Why won’t you show yourself?
Cause then it’ll be no fun.
This time he doesn’t even have the energy left to shout. Just curses under his breath and turns around.
| Część 2
Author: ajin
Pairing: Junhyung/Hyunseung
Rating: PG (will most likely change later)
Genre: AU, Romance
Word Count: 1,585
Summary: Life is but a dream and since there are no rules in dreams, anything can happen also in life.
Author's Note of Doom: This fic already has a whole history and it's been only like 3 weeks -_-' I've started it on a whim after spamming krissasaur with Junhyung. Then, I saw a certain photo on weheartit and fell in love with it and just had to write. My tlist probably knows it as that #foreveralone fic. Since I want to finish it, I'll be posting a part of it here. I have another fic in process and really when I update this one will solely depend on inspiration and the response it gets. I still haven't decided which fic is going to get the priority after all.
The only reason I haven't abanoned this yet is this song. I'm forever unable to write unless I find the perfect song :/
For harkk because she loves my Junseung more than I do and she's my amazing baby unicorn ( ´・‿-) ~ ♥
He has been finding them ever since last month. Small and perfectly cut, always in different colours. They’re all over his apartment, in every room and every corner. He has even found a few in the main street two blocks away. Once noticed a bright red one in the tube on the tracks before the train came and took it away.
Normally they bring a smile to his face. It’s nothing like his usual strained one. It’s spontaneous and bright. He’s not in the mood today though. The lyrics he was supposed to complete are still lying on his desk half-finished and gathering dust. His girlfriend decided she no longer wants to meet with him. And there was a whole list of complains about how he is never there, forgets about the anniversaries, doesn’t really listen, is not even in love with her. He himself is sure he still loves her very much (he can’t help that he’s been distracted by everything and nothing lately) but it didn’t seem to matter in the slightest.
So when he finds a pile of paper hearts on his table, he explodes. It’s as fast as spontaneous combustion. Before he knows it, he has thrown them all around. Splashes of bright colours now flying about.
Later when he thinks about it, he remembers that he thought he heard a sound like a muffled squeak. A figment of his imagination.
It doesn’t stop. They still follow him everywhere like an annoying puppy. He thinks it was some time after the second week it has been happening. On a strange impulse he decided to put all of them in one jar. It was a big, transparent one that he used to store his mum’s kimchi in. Made the paper hearts smell like a mixture of red pepper paste and cabbage. So very familiar. The jar was full after four days though. Still stands proudly on one of the top shelves in the kitchen above the stove. A rainbow caught between the grey utensils.
He’s not amused when he slips on three yellow hearts on Monday morning. He’s already late and knows that his current employee is not going to be happy. The moment he lands on his butt hard, all he wants to do is scream in frustration and tear everything in sight. He can swear he heard giggling in the background.
He’s vary of them the whole day. Looks around like he’s paranoid and scans every inch of the pavement. Makes a few children run away (and an elderly couple and some teenage girl) with his dark glare.
He finally spots one when he’s cleaning dishes in the kitchen. The sun is shining brightly through the window, breaking on the glass and putting a brilliant rainbow on the window sill. They lie in a perfect row starting from yellow and finishing on brown. Just next to the tall pale blue vase with the barely alive tulips he bought last week on a whim. They’re yellow but the ends of their petals are turning warm brown. He can hear his breath get caught.
It takes good three months for him to start wondering who might be leaving all those paper hearts. By then he’s convinced there must be a concrete, human being behind it. Although he can’t explain why his doors are never unlocked and nothing in his apartment ever moved. Although it makes no sense for them to appear before him the second he looks down at the ground. So to distract himself from the grey reality that has been threatening to consume him lately, he comes up with a plan.
The first time he leaves a bright pink post-it on the fridge doors, he’s met with silence. The black letters stare at him mockingly for three days straight. The hearts still appearing with increasing frequency.
On the fourth day he comes home completely wasted. It’s impossibly dark outside. There’s not even one star in sight and the wind is crashing against his windows. As if it’s trying to move the whole building. Memories of the Wizard of Oz. But he’s just too smashed.
He doesn’t even want to think how many times he was met with a wall today. His equilibrium is lacking and he’s suddenly so sure he’s not alone. Still, there’s no one beside him.
When he wakes up, it feels like his world is shaking. There’s an army of needles marching up and down his spine. His legs are heavy and he barely manages to drag himself out of bed. Bumps into the door twice while going for the nearest pain killers. Even in this half-drugged state he still notices the pink post-it sitting smugly on the fridge doors. Looking just a tad different from the last time he has seen it. Somehow much more black.
Who are you?
Take a guess?
If he were sober, he might have been able to hit the fridge (out of frustration). His fist however collides with the cold tiles. It’s not exactly painless. He gives up and decides to just spend the rest of the day in bed.
It goes more or less like this:
An annoying minx.
You’re pretty close.
Fuck you. Stop putting those paper hearts all over my place.
I’d have considered it if you said please.
What do you want from me?
Do I need to want something?
You’d bloody better have a reason.
Who knows? I might.
He rips them all off. He’s so angry he can feel himself shake. And there are unmistakable giggles accompanying his little stunt.
“At least show yourself!”
The only answer he gets is the paper hearts spiraling down from above him. Just like rainbow snow. Quite pretty.
After the accident, he pretends he can’t see them. Even when they’re lying in the snow all red. Creating a scene out of a fairy tale. Even when they’re purple and stuck to the long salmon pink curtains in his living room. Like roses. Even when they make his heart thump.
When he runs out of the pink post-its, he automatically goes to the supermarket nearby and buys a whole pack. It’s so big it could last him a good few months. He’s stubborn though. They stay on his desk near the horribly used and broken pencils overlooking the scenery outside.
He’s been trying to organize everything in his life. He’s taking each thing and putting it on display. Looking and labeling. Creating small shelves inside. He tucks his worries there and numbers them. Starting from 5. It’s still a mess though because humans don’t work in a logical way. The more he categorizes his thoughts, the less he’s sure if he’s got the order and the genre right. The songs stop flowing from under his pen. There’s absolutely no magic in how he ponders each sentence, each rhyme, each full stop. It’s a torture but never sweet. Not now.
The pink post-its are nudging his hand. If he looks left from his sheets of paper, they seem to be the only thing around.
It takes three hours but in the end he gives up. He takes the box in his hands and tears the transparent wrapping apart. The blocks of pink fall down. He picks the first one and tears a few post-its out.
Are you human?
Were you ever one?
What does the world look like to you if you’re looking from the window in my kitchen outside?
Do you like music?
How long have you been around?
He feels silly for covering the fridge like this but leaves it be. It’s uncontrolled but somehow it makes him feel so much more alive.
He doesn’t expect straight answers. At least not to all of his questions. The last exchange was vague enough.
He’s slowly approaching another deadline but nothing is coming up. His mind is blank. He’s not even angry anymore. Rather resigned. He knows that if he screws up this time paying the rent may prove to be very hard. Still, he waits for some miracle. A last minute inspiration. The kitchen makes all his thoughts halt.
There’re black letters appearing so slowly. He can see them being written. It’s so bizarre. Mostly because there’s neither a hand nor a pen in sight.
I doubt that.
I might have been but if I were, it must have been a long time ago.
Small and grey but it makes me feel safe. Do you like it?
Yes. You have a nice voice.
A while.
He’s stunned to the extent he just stands there speechless. Then, he grabs the napkins from the kitchen table and scribbles the lyrics down with the broken pencil he has been holding in his hand. About rainbows, magical black letters, abrupt goodbyes and self-mending hearts.
They start to appear one at a time. He tries to find a pattern (blue on Monday, red on Wednesday and yellow on Sunday night). After two weeks he realizes there’s none. He almost wants to ask the paper-hearts person about it but ends up doing something different with the post-its pile.
I like it at night. Have you noticed how beautiful the view is then?
You’re right.
Don’t think you’ll hear me sing again.
Are you embarrassed?
A while?
Yes, a while.
I’m not embarrassed!
Of course you're not.
Why won’t you show yourself?
Cause then it’ll be no fun.
This time he doesn’t even have the energy left to shout. Just curses under his breath and turns around.
| Część 2