icarus
ot5
angst
g
944 words
Think of crows. Think of ravens. Think of blackbirds against the bluest sky you’ve ever seen, flat bottomed clouds tinged with dove grey, the kind that brings the promise of rainbow lit evenings after rain. Now think of a room with a window. Four walls, five people, a million hearts.
Break them all.
They leave in handfuls first. Groups of five and ten and multiples of two, three, four. Jaejoong is the saddest to see them go but he’s the one that shows them out, one for the road and a smile for all the nights they might think of this place.
“Thank you,” he says and sometimes, one will wander back into the familiar warmth of that little room, Yunho opening the door this time with the softest of hellos.
“Thank you,” Jaejoong says and all is well for a while.
They talk about the things they know. Songs and lyrics and notes and laughter tinged accounts that never grow old from retellings.
“So we never forget,” Junsu explains when someone goes up to him to ask. He doesn’t know her name but it’s okay, an answer is still an answer all the same. “So you’ll never forget as well,” he adds almost as an afterthought but she’s gone back into the diminishing crowd. Maybe when there are fewer people, he’ll take her aside for a moment, if only to ask her what her name is.
The more people leave, the less things there are to talk about. Changmin gets frustrated with all the forgetting but doesn’t show it, not that there’s anyone left to see it. Less people means wider spaces. Yoochun feels so very far away right now, playing at shadow animals on the wall with Junsu at the other end of the room. A dolphin leaps to life, disintegrating into a rabbit with floppy ears before fingers splay back into two hands intertwined.
“Why those animals,” Yunho wonders out loud, just a ways off from Changmin and for the life of him, Changmin can’t seem to remember. Maybe Jaejoong will know, but Jaejoong is too busy showing someone out of the door.
“Are we forgetting something?”
Yunho catches him by the elbow and there’s this look in his eyes that Changmin can’t place.
“We’re forgetting a lot of things.”
They’re down to a dozen. Ten. Eight. Five. One. The last one left doesn’t say too much, just looks out of the window a lot and sighs under her breath as she fiddles with a flickering light stick on her lap, far too aware of the awkward cloud hovering over the room. It’s Jaejoong who finally goes up to her.
“It’s okay to leave,” he says. Yunho smiles that familiar smile and Yoochun reaches to pull the door open.
“Thank you,” Changmin whispers in her ear as she passes and now it’s down to none. She’s left her light stick behind and Junsu flicks it on, tracing the word illuminated a soft red from the inside out. It’s not something he recognizes but he keeps it next to him anyways, just in case one day he remembers. Yunho doesn’t think he should, though, Changmin says the same because remembering might just be as painful as forgetting.
There’s nothing much left in the room and it’s Jaejoong who thinks it might be a good idea to go outside.
“What if we get lost,” Yoochun voices out worriedly and Junsu hushes him, says that it’s okay, if one were meant to be found, one will be found no matter what. He follows Jaejoong out the door with Yoochun in tow, looking over his shoulder at Yunho and Changmin.
“Aren’t you coming?”
But the door closes a little too soon and it’s too bright outside to want to go back in to check if they’ve heard. Junsu doesn’t even realize that he’s left his light stick inside but it finds a good enough home with Changmin, who keeps it on all the time.
“And then there were two,” Yunho says under his breath. He can’t remember what the number was before there were two but it must have been something horribly important, judging from the way his heart is thumping so hard against his chest. He asks Changmin but Changmin doesn’t know, probably doesn’t want to. They pass the time watching the world outside the window, sunlit shapes that feel so familiar that it hurts to watch and yet, looking away doesn’t feel like an option.
“Let’s go,” Yunho tells Changmin one day. There’s wanderlust stirring in his bones and Changmin’s light stick, it’s taken to flickering every so often now. “Leave that behind, we won’t need it anymore.”
So Changmin does. Leaves it in a patch of sunlight and follows Yunho out into the world beyond the walls. The room seems so much smaller now that he has everything else to compare it to but that’s a bit of a trivial matter, watching Yunho dance in midday light. There’s something still not that right though, something nudging against the walls of heart. As if telling him that there’s someone waiting to be found just over the top of that hill in the distance.
They won’t know it, standing in tall grass and under cornfield blue skies, but in that little room, something flickers out. And it’s okay.
Think of singing. Think of crowds. Think of notes unreachable finally sung, of spotlights trained and voices strained to breaking, of applause and the deep darkness that sweeps across the stage after the final bow. Now think of the brilliance of sunlight when you step outside, how skies have no borders and no end.
Think of flying.
[fin]
angst
g
944 words
Think of crows. Think of ravens. Think of blackbirds against the bluest sky you’ve ever seen, flat bottomed clouds tinged with dove grey, the kind that brings the promise of rainbow lit evenings after rain. Now think of a room with a window. Four walls, five people, a million hearts.
Break them all.
They leave in handfuls first. Groups of five and ten and multiples of two, three, four. Jaejoong is the saddest to see them go but he’s the one that shows them out, one for the road and a smile for all the nights they might think of this place.
“Thank you,” he says and sometimes, one will wander back into the familiar warmth of that little room, Yunho opening the door this time with the softest of hellos.
“Thank you,” Jaejoong says and all is well for a while.
They talk about the things they know. Songs and lyrics and notes and laughter tinged accounts that never grow old from retellings.
“So we never forget,” Junsu explains when someone goes up to him to ask. He doesn’t know her name but it’s okay, an answer is still an answer all the same. “So you’ll never forget as well,” he adds almost as an afterthought but she’s gone back into the diminishing crowd. Maybe when there are fewer people, he’ll take her aside for a moment, if only to ask her what her name is.
The more people leave, the less things there are to talk about. Changmin gets frustrated with all the forgetting but doesn’t show it, not that there’s anyone left to see it. Less people means wider spaces. Yoochun feels so very far away right now, playing at shadow animals on the wall with Junsu at the other end of the room. A dolphin leaps to life, disintegrating into a rabbit with floppy ears before fingers splay back into two hands intertwined.
“Why those animals,” Yunho wonders out loud, just a ways off from Changmin and for the life of him, Changmin can’t seem to remember. Maybe Jaejoong will know, but Jaejoong is too busy showing someone out of the door.
“Are we forgetting something?”
Yunho catches him by the elbow and there’s this look in his eyes that Changmin can’t place.
“We’re forgetting a lot of things.”
They’re down to a dozen. Ten. Eight. Five. One. The last one left doesn’t say too much, just looks out of the window a lot and sighs under her breath as she fiddles with a flickering light stick on her lap, far too aware of the awkward cloud hovering over the room. It’s Jaejoong who finally goes up to her.
“It’s okay to leave,” he says. Yunho smiles that familiar smile and Yoochun reaches to pull the door open.
“Thank you,” Changmin whispers in her ear as she passes and now it’s down to none. She’s left her light stick behind and Junsu flicks it on, tracing the word illuminated a soft red from the inside out. It’s not something he recognizes but he keeps it next to him anyways, just in case one day he remembers. Yunho doesn’t think he should, though, Changmin says the same because remembering might just be as painful as forgetting.
There’s nothing much left in the room and it’s Jaejoong who thinks it might be a good idea to go outside.
“What if we get lost,” Yoochun voices out worriedly and Junsu hushes him, says that it’s okay, if one were meant to be found, one will be found no matter what. He follows Jaejoong out the door with Yoochun in tow, looking over his shoulder at Yunho and Changmin.
“Aren’t you coming?”
But the door closes a little too soon and it’s too bright outside to want to go back in to check if they’ve heard. Junsu doesn’t even realize that he’s left his light stick inside but it finds a good enough home with Changmin, who keeps it on all the time.
“And then there were two,” Yunho says under his breath. He can’t remember what the number was before there were two but it must have been something horribly important, judging from the way his heart is thumping so hard against his chest. He asks Changmin but Changmin doesn’t know, probably doesn’t want to. They pass the time watching the world outside the window, sunlit shapes that feel so familiar that it hurts to watch and yet, looking away doesn’t feel like an option.
“Let’s go,” Yunho tells Changmin one day. There’s wanderlust stirring in his bones and Changmin’s light stick, it’s taken to flickering every so often now. “Leave that behind, we won’t need it anymore.”
So Changmin does. Leaves it in a patch of sunlight and follows Yunho out into the world beyond the walls. The room seems so much smaller now that he has everything else to compare it to but that’s a bit of a trivial matter, watching Yunho dance in midday light. There’s something still not that right though, something nudging against the walls of heart. As if telling him that there’s someone waiting to be found just over the top of that hill in the distance.
They won’t know it, standing in tall grass and under cornfield blue skies, but in that little room, something flickers out. And it’s okay.
Think of singing. Think of crowds. Think of notes unreachable finally sung, of spotlights trained and voices strained to breaking, of applause and the deep darkness that sweeps across the stage after the final bow. Now think of the brilliance of sunlight when you step outside, how skies have no borders and no end.
Think of flying.
[fin]