"Can I Keep You?"
"I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not f***, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane."
- “Looking for Alaska”, John Green (2005)
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Often, Onew would find himself staring, like a gaping fool, as Taemin danced, writhed on stage. And he wondered, he thought so hard, how did that boy manage to possess such grace and beauty in his every movement?
This was a question especially pertinent to Onew, Lee Jinki. After all, he was the clumsy, bumbling, forever stumbling, perpetually falling owner of the nickname, Onew Sangtae.
He would stare at those limbs - limbs which look so thin, so potentially awkward. Yet, once the beat of the music throbbed from the ground under them, they transformed, moving, no, floating through the air… they were so light, so ethereal.
The boy filled him with a sense of wonderment. He was a constant mystery. One moment, the shy, bashful, blonde maknae, hiding his laugh behind his hand. The next moment, he was the enigmatic, red-haired seductor, staring back at the camera with those dead, still eyes. Unmoving, untouched, yet, they screamed of endless possibilities.
In turn, he found himself terribly dull. Unfascinating. Utterly boring. He was just the nice, dubu-like leader.
And so he would stare, and when he wasn’t staring, he would be wondering, thinking, filling every inch of his mind, with images of, questions about the boy, Lee Taemin. The boy who made his heart race, yet ache, all at the same time.
He lay in bed that night, determined to cast those thoughts aside, and let sleep claim him.
The silence of the room lulled over him, warm, heavy, thick, but so comforting.
Minutes must have passed, him transiting between consciousness and the absolutely silent, dark wonderland where he raced after the boy, the tips of his fingers coming so achingly close to touching that milky skin, yet always grasping only air.
The door creaked open and the heavy sleepiness fled.
“… Hyung?”
“Taemin?”
Silent acknowledgment.
“What are you doing?”
“… Sleep with you…” He heard the boy slur, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he made out the boy’s face, his sleep-heavy eyelids and the hint of a childlike, petulant sulk.
A part of him prodded and nudged for him to say no.
But how could he resist?
His silence was all the answer the boy needed, and the bed creaked, as another body squirmed under the covers.
The boy snuggled closer, and with the warm back plastered against his chest, he wondered if he could hear his heart beating?
The moon shone through a slight gap in the curtains, and he took in the full lips, slightly parted; the momentary crinkle along the nose bridge when the boy snuffled softly in his sleep.
He breathed in the scent which serenely surrounded him, as the boy snuggled further into the covers, seeking more warmth; the light, cool scent, smelling of freshly laundered sheets… and coming home.
With the rhythmic combing of his fingers through the boy’s impossibly soft hair, his eyelids drooped. He barely noticed the gradual slowing of the strokes through that soft, blonde hair, as he mumbled quietly, sleepily… “Can I keep you?”
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inspiration: casper. yes, im that old.
not much inspiration recently. it usually strikes me only when im travelling. so i guess i'll be on a hiatus until i start travelling again. =)
p.s: posted something below this. =)
- “Looking for Alaska”, John Green (2005)
-
Often, Onew would find himself staring, like a gaping fool, as Taemin danced, writhed on stage. And he wondered, he thought so hard, how did that boy manage to possess such grace and beauty in his every movement?
This was a question especially pertinent to Onew, Lee Jinki. After all, he was the clumsy, bumbling, forever stumbling, perpetually falling owner of the nickname, Onew Sangtae.
He would stare at those limbs - limbs which look so thin, so potentially awkward. Yet, once the beat of the music throbbed from the ground under them, they transformed, moving, no, floating through the air… they were so light, so ethereal.
The boy filled him with a sense of wonderment. He was a constant mystery. One moment, the shy, bashful, blonde maknae, hiding his laugh behind his hand. The next moment, he was the enigmatic, red-haired seductor, staring back at the camera with those dead, still eyes. Unmoving, untouched, yet, they screamed of endless possibilities.
In turn, he found himself terribly dull. Unfascinating. Utterly boring. He was just the nice, dubu-like leader.
And so he would stare, and when he wasn’t staring, he would be wondering, thinking, filling every inch of his mind, with images of, questions about the boy, Lee Taemin. The boy who made his heart race, yet ache, all at the same time.
He lay in bed that night, determined to cast those thoughts aside, and let sleep claim him.
The silence of the room lulled over him, warm, heavy, thick, but so comforting.
Minutes must have passed, him transiting between consciousness and the absolutely silent, dark wonderland where he raced after the boy, the tips of his fingers coming so achingly close to touching that milky skin, yet always grasping only air.
The door creaked open and the heavy sleepiness fled.
“… Hyung?”
“Taemin?”
Silent acknowledgment.
“What are you doing?”
“… Sleep with you…” He heard the boy slur, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he made out the boy’s face, his sleep-heavy eyelids and the hint of a childlike, petulant sulk.
A part of him prodded and nudged for him to say no.
But how could he resist?
His silence was all the answer the boy needed, and the bed creaked, as another body squirmed under the covers.
The boy snuggled closer, and with the warm back plastered against his chest, he wondered if he could hear his heart beating?
The moon shone through a slight gap in the curtains, and he took in the full lips, slightly parted; the momentary crinkle along the nose bridge when the boy snuffled softly in his sleep.
He breathed in the scent which serenely surrounded him, as the boy snuggled further into the covers, seeking more warmth; the light, cool scent, smelling of freshly laundered sheets… and coming home.
With the rhythmic combing of his fingers through the boy’s impossibly soft hair, his eyelids drooped. He barely noticed the gradual slowing of the strokes through that soft, blonde hair, as he mumbled quietly, sleepily… “Can I keep you?”
web counter
-
inspiration: casper. yes, im that old.
not much inspiration recently. it usually strikes me only when im travelling. so i guess i'll be on a hiatus until i start travelling again. =)
p.s: posted something below this. =)