burning cities; donghae/hyukjae
a/n: original story/post here. i didn't like the original entry because it was rushed and the ending was horrible but now i think this is even worse. i rewrote the ending like 4895ut934 times and i give up. take it, i don't want it.
donghae was twenty two, to be twenty three later that year, when he found hyukjae shivering in the snow, legs tucked to his chest. hyukjae had only been wearing a faded blue t-shirt and black jeans, donghae with a scarf wrapped around his neck and up to his mouth. a stranger in the snow. his skin shimmered when he shifted, eyes the color of medieval castles alight, and donghae had been entranced.
donghae's voice makes hyukjae flinch, cowering further into the shadows, and it takes forty one minutes of coaxing and staring, endless it'll be okay. you'll be okays, for hyukjae to follow him home.
the second they're in the house, donghae's throwing off his gloves and scarf and boots, turning on the heater. hyukjae stands awkwardly by the doorway, impossibly small and eyes flying over the hardwood flooring, the photographs on the walls. donghae pushes hyukjae into the kitchen, presses a cup of hot chocolate into his hands, and watches from across the granite countertop with amused eyes.
"i'm donghae, and since i saved you from freezing to death, you have to repay me by staying here until you get a warm fuzzy home of your own," the boy says and hyukjae doesn't reply at all, eyes fixed on the steam rising from the cup.
it takes two weeks before hyukjae starts talking. the very first time was when donghae had asked about the weather, if it had stopped snowing or not. "it's like when we first met," hyukjae had whispered, voice unsure and stuttered. donghae had dropped the box in his hands and looked up at hyukjae with startled eyes.
"what did you say?"
"it's like when we first met; the weather." that time, donghae had laughed, pleased, while hyukjae turned around to get donghae's blue and black scarf from the closet, hiding his smile.
it gets easier after that. hyukjae's voice gets smoother and there's pretty rings to it, when he says certain words. donghae talks a lot, a lot more than he usually does, just to hear hyukjae's reply. after a couple days of that though, the questions start coming.
things like, "why were you out in the snow that day?" and, "how come you never asked for help?"
"a while ago, they figured out that i was crazy. they left me and i ran out of places to go. and donghae, hae, you helped me find my voice again," hyukjae would simply reply, holding back they can't help things like me anyway.
donghae leaves it at that because hyukjae's speech always faltered a little, like he'll lose his voice again. instead, donghae helps him learn to laugh all over again, smiles turned into grins with glimpses of gums and teeth, shaking shoulders.
days and weeks and months pass by quick. the snow melts to budding sunflowers with dandelion wishes flying off in the breeze. hyukjae likes to sit on the windowsill and pick petals off the yellow weeds that grow in between the tiles on the roof, throwing them into the air and watching them fall afterwards.
donghae sometimes comes home late at night, always comes home to a sleeping hyukjae on the couch with the television still on while everything else was pitched in black. he turns off the tv and grabs two blankets from his room. one is thrown over hyukjae after he presses a kiss to the boy's forehead.
on the days when donghae comes home late at night, he sleeps on the hardwood floor next to the couch that hyukjae's on, but hyukjae doesn't sleep.
autumn approaches as spring sunsets and summer afternoons pass. hyukjae's skin shimmers and sparkles a little bit more every day, but donghae doesn't really notice, blames it on the lighting playing tricks on his eyes. they tease and bicker, same as always, but he starts to cuddle hyukjae on those days when he comes home late at night instead of sleeping on the floor.
it's those days, when donghae's fast asleep with his arms slung easily over hyukjae's waist, that hyukjae remembers how to cry.
a week before halloween night and things fall apart. hyukjae stops laughing, forgets how to do so with the sun rising outside the window, and cries a lot more, silent tears that track down his flawless pale skin and sharp angles. donghae asks one time, "why are you crying into your cereal, hyuk?"
"donghae, hae, you can't love me."
"you can't love me," hyukjae says again two days later with glazed eyes and hands that tremble. he nudges donghae awake with his elbow poking into the other's stomach. "you can't love me," he repeats, whispering, with his voice shaking and skin shimmering even with the lack of light.
"mmph?"
"hae, you can't love me."
"what if i already do?"
"but you can't, you can't."
"it's too early for this."
"i'm a monster, donghae."
donghae doesn't believe him, and falls back asleep after a couple of heartbeats, but hyukjae doesn't sleep.
the leaves change color, from green to red to orange to dead, and hyukjae changes with them. he doesn't gain weight and doesn't grow taller nor does he bruise, but donghae sees it, how hyukjae's eyes flash different cities and how the lilt in his voice differs on days.
hyukjae forgets how to eat. his hands fumble on chopsticks and he doesn't get it, why donghae tries to use silver materials to press things through his lips. he forgets how to eat, and it's okay because he doesn't really need to anyways, and it's okay though sometimes donghae stares at him from across the kitchen table with damp eyes and upside down smiles.
hyukjae forgets how to eat but he remembers how to dance.
they dance together on days when donghae doesn't have to work, music turned up and window open. donghae dances in the bathroom with hyukjae a foot away, and it's cramped with things in the way, but it's so, so, beautiful, the way they move together with breaths matching and hearts pounding in the same tune, that it doesn't matter.
the first time it snows that year, donghae stays home because the ground is covered six inches over with snow that came in the night. he wakes up with his arms around hyukjae's waist and feet cold. hyukjae's cheek is ice under donghae's lips and his eyelashes are inked black, stuck together and dark against his pale skin.
they spend the day watching the snow fall from the couch, blankets draping shoulders, and playing cards with mugs of warmed coffee high in sugar by their feet.
"it's like when we first met," hyukjae says with cities frozen in ice sparkling in his eyes. donghae blinks, smile tipping off his lips, and casts a glance outside the window with hands pausing.
"three more days and it'll be a year," and hyukjae's heart breaks. "we'll have to do something special, hyuk," donghae says with small kisses pressed to the side of the other's face, smudging faint tear tracks.
it rains. it rains and the snow is washed away into slush that seeps through their boots, a thin layer of ice at the bottom. donghae walks to the train station and hyukjae comes along.
they walk in the middle of the road just for fun, with no cars in their path. the first half of the way, they're pushing and shoving, cold hands pressed to the back of each other's neck with feet slipping and sliding over the ground. donghae laughs, hyukjae grins, and they fake yell and love because they can.
the station is a half hour away by foot and they beat the train there. sitting down on a sheltered bench, hands laced together and noses pink from the cold, shoulders pressed together, they watch people walk by. donghae smiles at the old man with battered sneakers a couple feet away trying to sell newspapers, and hyukjae smiles at donghae's smile.
donghae's at work and hyukjae's alone.
donghae's at work and hyukjae's almost gone.
he walks around the warm fuzzy apartment with boots left by the door and gloves on the kitchen counter. hyukjae shifts through clothes until he finds the ones he had from when they first met and returns donghae's back to where they're supposed to go, like he was never there.
hyukjae doesn't know how to write so he leaves a message via closed glass jars that are in the second to last drawer of the bathroom cabinet, next to the band-aids. talking into glass jars and quickly shutting them afterwards, trapping heartbeats and secrets, hyukjae doesn't stick around to find out if donghae ever finds out.
when he leaves, when he leaves, hyukjae takes donghae's blue and black scarf from its spot by the refrigerator and abandons his messages of thank yous and hopes and wishes, and a love that never was, the door clicking closed softly behind him.
months pass, months pass, seasons pass, and donghae doesn't find him, the boy with shimmering skin that called himself a monster when all he really was, was a dreamer that didn't know how to (laugh lie eat sleep bleed sing write paint) say goodbye.
one autumn day, heechul comes in the middle of the night while the moon is cloud covered and drifting. hyukjae barely looks up and presses his back into the wall behind him, donghae's blue and black scarf warm over his nose and mouth, around his neck.
"you know, you're never going to see, feel, your wings again if you don't get claimed by--"
"i know."
"do you? do you know that you're going to fucking die? you're going to die out here with your wings turned to ash and dreams to snow," heechul screams, eyes flashing ice blue and shadow blurring.
hyukjae closes his eyes, inhaling slowly, and tries to remember what donghae smelled like, what donghae felt like, a blue and black scarf with only the story of cold and snow left.
"i know."
months, and months, and seasons, they go by but hyukjae never remembers how to sleep. he never remembers how to laugh again, nor does anyone find his voice for him after he loses it one spring afternoon while the trees were painting stories with their leaves.
"i think i was in love once," he wants to tell them, the trees. "i think i was in love once, with a boy that has eyes prettier than burning cities and smiles that could be worth more than crystals and gold," but when he speaks, there's no sound, no pretty rings when he says certain words, and no one knows.
donghae is some couple of miles away with the blinds drawn closed and radio on. it takes two winters for donghae to find the secret of the glass jars embedded into the fibers. the very first jar he opens repeats, retells, the story of a love that never was, with hyukjae's whispered words faint but there.
when he opens the rest of the jars, there are no more words, messages of thank yous and hopes and wishes that weren't strong enough to last through months and months and seasons. donghae throws the glass jars carelessly to the floor and holds onto the secret of a love that could've been, could've been so much more.
(hyukjae is ash mixed with particles of ice and wings that never return, and he turns into earth and sky and perfection every time it snows.
donghae is the one walking the streets on days when roads and sidewalks are littered with dreams, looking for a boy, the boy, with shimmering skin and eyes the color of medieval castles alight, that already knew how to love better than anyone else without ever loving himself).
donghae was twenty two, to be twenty three later that year, when he found hyukjae shivering in the snow, legs tucked to his chest. hyukjae had only been wearing a faded blue t-shirt and black jeans, donghae with a scarf wrapped around his neck and up to his mouth. a stranger in the snow. his skin shimmered when he shifted, eyes the color of medieval castles alight, and donghae had been entranced.
donghae's voice makes hyukjae flinch, cowering further into the shadows, and it takes forty one minutes of coaxing and staring, endless it'll be okay. you'll be okays, for hyukjae to follow him home.
the second they're in the house, donghae's throwing off his gloves and scarf and boots, turning on the heater. hyukjae stands awkwardly by the doorway, impossibly small and eyes flying over the hardwood flooring, the photographs on the walls. donghae pushes hyukjae into the kitchen, presses a cup of hot chocolate into his hands, and watches from across the granite countertop with amused eyes.
"i'm donghae, and since i saved you from freezing to death, you have to repay me by staying here until you get a warm fuzzy home of your own," the boy says and hyukjae doesn't reply at all, eyes fixed on the steam rising from the cup.
it takes two weeks before hyukjae starts talking. the very first time was when donghae had asked about the weather, if it had stopped snowing or not. "it's like when we first met," hyukjae had whispered, voice unsure and stuttered. donghae had dropped the box in his hands and looked up at hyukjae with startled eyes.
"what did you say?"
"it's like when we first met; the weather." that time, donghae had laughed, pleased, while hyukjae turned around to get donghae's blue and black scarf from the closet, hiding his smile.
it gets easier after that. hyukjae's voice gets smoother and there's pretty rings to it, when he says certain words. donghae talks a lot, a lot more than he usually does, just to hear hyukjae's reply. after a couple days of that though, the questions start coming.
things like, "why were you out in the snow that day?" and, "how come you never asked for help?"
"a while ago, they figured out that i was crazy. they left me and i ran out of places to go. and donghae, hae, you helped me find my voice again," hyukjae would simply reply, holding back they can't help things like me anyway.
donghae leaves it at that because hyukjae's speech always faltered a little, like he'll lose his voice again. instead, donghae helps him learn to laugh all over again, smiles turned into grins with glimpses of gums and teeth, shaking shoulders.
days and weeks and months pass by quick. the snow melts to budding sunflowers with dandelion wishes flying off in the breeze. hyukjae likes to sit on the windowsill and pick petals off the yellow weeds that grow in between the tiles on the roof, throwing them into the air and watching them fall afterwards.
donghae sometimes comes home late at night, always comes home to a sleeping hyukjae on the couch with the television still on while everything else was pitched in black. he turns off the tv and grabs two blankets from his room. one is thrown over hyukjae after he presses a kiss to the boy's forehead.
on the days when donghae comes home late at night, he sleeps on the hardwood floor next to the couch that hyukjae's on, but hyukjae doesn't sleep.
autumn approaches as spring sunsets and summer afternoons pass. hyukjae's skin shimmers and sparkles a little bit more every day, but donghae doesn't really notice, blames it on the lighting playing tricks on his eyes. they tease and bicker, same as always, but he starts to cuddle hyukjae on those days when he comes home late at night instead of sleeping on the floor.
it's those days, when donghae's fast asleep with his arms slung easily over hyukjae's waist, that hyukjae remembers how to cry.
a week before halloween night and things fall apart. hyukjae stops laughing, forgets how to do so with the sun rising outside the window, and cries a lot more, silent tears that track down his flawless pale skin and sharp angles. donghae asks one time, "why are you crying into your cereal, hyuk?"
"donghae, hae, you can't love me."
"you can't love me," hyukjae says again two days later with glazed eyes and hands that tremble. he nudges donghae awake with his elbow poking into the other's stomach. "you can't love me," he repeats, whispering, with his voice shaking and skin shimmering even with the lack of light.
"mmph?"
"hae, you can't love me."
"what if i already do?"
"but you can't, you can't."
"it's too early for this."
"i'm a monster, donghae."
donghae doesn't believe him, and falls back asleep after a couple of heartbeats, but hyukjae doesn't sleep.
the leaves change color, from green to red to orange to dead, and hyukjae changes with them. he doesn't gain weight and doesn't grow taller nor does he bruise, but donghae sees it, how hyukjae's eyes flash different cities and how the lilt in his voice differs on days.
hyukjae forgets how to eat. his hands fumble on chopsticks and he doesn't get it, why donghae tries to use silver materials to press things through his lips. he forgets how to eat, and it's okay because he doesn't really need to anyways, and it's okay though sometimes donghae stares at him from across the kitchen table with damp eyes and upside down smiles.
hyukjae forgets how to eat but he remembers how to dance.
they dance together on days when donghae doesn't have to work, music turned up and window open. donghae dances in the bathroom with hyukjae a foot away, and it's cramped with things in the way, but it's so, so, beautiful, the way they move together with breaths matching and hearts pounding in the same tune, that it doesn't matter.
the first time it snows that year, donghae stays home because the ground is covered six inches over with snow that came in the night. he wakes up with his arms around hyukjae's waist and feet cold. hyukjae's cheek is ice under donghae's lips and his eyelashes are inked black, stuck together and dark against his pale skin.
they spend the day watching the snow fall from the couch, blankets draping shoulders, and playing cards with mugs of warmed coffee high in sugar by their feet.
"it's like when we first met," hyukjae says with cities frozen in ice sparkling in his eyes. donghae blinks, smile tipping off his lips, and casts a glance outside the window with hands pausing.
"three more days and it'll be a year," and hyukjae's heart breaks. "we'll have to do something special, hyuk," donghae says with small kisses pressed to the side of the other's face, smudging faint tear tracks.
it rains. it rains and the snow is washed away into slush that seeps through their boots, a thin layer of ice at the bottom. donghae walks to the train station and hyukjae comes along.
they walk in the middle of the road just for fun, with no cars in their path. the first half of the way, they're pushing and shoving, cold hands pressed to the back of each other's neck with feet slipping and sliding over the ground. donghae laughs, hyukjae grins, and they fake yell and love because they can.
the station is a half hour away by foot and they beat the train there. sitting down on a sheltered bench, hands laced together and noses pink from the cold, shoulders pressed together, they watch people walk by. donghae smiles at the old man with battered sneakers a couple feet away trying to sell newspapers, and hyukjae smiles at donghae's smile.
donghae's at work and hyukjae's alone.
donghae's at work and hyukjae's almost gone.
he walks around the warm fuzzy apartment with boots left by the door and gloves on the kitchen counter. hyukjae shifts through clothes until he finds the ones he had from when they first met and returns donghae's back to where they're supposed to go, like he was never there.
hyukjae doesn't know how to write so he leaves a message via closed glass jars that are in the second to last drawer of the bathroom cabinet, next to the band-aids. talking into glass jars and quickly shutting them afterwards, trapping heartbeats and secrets, hyukjae doesn't stick around to find out if donghae ever finds out.
when he leaves, when he leaves, hyukjae takes donghae's blue and black scarf from its spot by the refrigerator and abandons his messages of thank yous and hopes and wishes, and a love that never was, the door clicking closed softly behind him.
months pass, months pass, seasons pass, and donghae doesn't find him, the boy with shimmering skin that called himself a monster when all he really was, was a dreamer that didn't know how to (laugh lie eat sleep bleed sing write paint) say goodbye.
one autumn day, heechul comes in the middle of the night while the moon is cloud covered and drifting. hyukjae barely looks up and presses his back into the wall behind him, donghae's blue and black scarf warm over his nose and mouth, around his neck.
"you know, you're never going to see, feel, your wings again if you don't get claimed by--"
"i know."
"do you? do you know that you're going to fucking die? you're going to die out here with your wings turned to ash and dreams to snow," heechul screams, eyes flashing ice blue and shadow blurring.
hyukjae closes his eyes, inhaling slowly, and tries to remember what donghae smelled like, what donghae felt like, a blue and black scarf with only the story of cold and snow left.
"i know."
months, and months, and seasons, they go by but hyukjae never remembers how to sleep. he never remembers how to laugh again, nor does anyone find his voice for him after he loses it one spring afternoon while the trees were painting stories with their leaves.
"i think i was in love once," he wants to tell them, the trees. "i think i was in love once, with a boy that has eyes prettier than burning cities and smiles that could be worth more than crystals and gold," but when he speaks, there's no sound, no pretty rings when he says certain words, and no one knows.
donghae is some couple of miles away with the blinds drawn closed and radio on. it takes two winters for donghae to find the secret of the glass jars embedded into the fibers. the very first jar he opens repeats, retells, the story of a love that never was, with hyukjae's whispered words faint but there.
when he opens the rest of the jars, there are no more words, messages of thank yous and hopes and wishes that weren't strong enough to last through months and months and seasons. donghae throws the glass jars carelessly to the floor and holds onto the secret of a love that could've been, could've been so much more.
(hyukjae is ash mixed with particles of ice and wings that never return, and he turns into earth and sky and perfection every time it snows.
donghae is the one walking the streets on days when roads and sidewalks are littered with dreams, looking for a boy, the boy, with shimmering skin and eyes the color of medieval castles alight, that already knew how to love better than anyone else without ever loving himself).