crossover: i've never lost a love (not counting you)
i've never lost a love (not counting you)
tablo & hyukjae; pg
a/n; self-explanatory.
hyukjae's down to his last cigarette.
he lights up, hands cupped around the flame and cigarette between his teeth. the edges burn orange and beautiful every time he inhales, smoke escaping his lips like some sort of prayer.
it's some kind of art, he thinks, smoking.
he's been chain-smoking all day.
(he never used to smoke, thought it was disgusting. dirt in your veins and poison for your lungs.
no, that was tablo's gig.
but god knows everything tablo did looked like a picture of perfection.)
ⱷ
it wasn't right, the way he looked at tablo.
hyukjae always knew that, but he didn't stop, couldn't stop. something childish like destiny and fate, when really it was his own lack of control. everyone mistook it for idolization, a brilliant lie hyukjae kept sweet on his tongue.
tablo was his first high, first addiction, like the drugs he's never tried.
one touch, one taste and you keep wanting more and more and more.
(so they had a couple beers, hammered and stupid, but hyukjae still kissed him.
it was warm and clumsy and perfect, and it lasted about a second.
he apologized in the morning, but tablo raised his eyebrows like he'd already forgotten it happened.)
ⱷ
a sing-song voice sounds through the speakers announcing all flights.
hyukjae snubs out his cigarette, watches it sizzle against the pavement.
he picks up his luggage and boards a plane.
(he found out over a phone call, tablo sounding happier than he ever heard him, about his soon-to-be wife, about their expected child.
"i wish it was me," hyukjae said soft as a whisper.
tablo laughed, "you'll get married someday."
it wasn't what he meant but hyukjae was always good at pretending.)
tablo & hyukjae; pg
a/n; self-explanatory.
hyukjae's down to his last cigarette.
he lights up, hands cupped around the flame and cigarette between his teeth. the edges burn orange and beautiful every time he inhales, smoke escaping his lips like some sort of prayer.
it's some kind of art, he thinks, smoking.
he's been chain-smoking all day.
(he never used to smoke, thought it was disgusting. dirt in your veins and poison for your lungs.
no, that was tablo's gig.
but god knows everything tablo did looked like a picture of perfection.)
ⱷ
it wasn't right, the way he looked at tablo.
hyukjae always knew that, but he didn't stop, couldn't stop. something childish like destiny and fate, when really it was his own lack of control. everyone mistook it for idolization, a brilliant lie hyukjae kept sweet on his tongue.
tablo was his first high, first addiction, like the drugs he's never tried.
one touch, one taste and you keep wanting more and more and more.
(so they had a couple beers, hammered and stupid, but hyukjae still kissed him.
it was warm and clumsy and perfect, and it lasted about a second.
he apologized in the morning, but tablo raised his eyebrows like he'd already forgotten it happened.)
ⱷ
a sing-song voice sounds through the speakers announcing all flights.
hyukjae snubs out his cigarette, watches it sizzle against the pavement.
he picks up his luggage and boards a plane.
(he found out over a phone call, tablo sounding happier than he ever heard him, about his soon-to-be wife, about their expected child.
"i wish it was me," hyukjae said soft as a whisper.
tablo laughed, "you'll get married someday."
it wasn't what he meant but hyukjae was always good at pretending.)