sub divo
sub divo
1,163w; pg (krystal/daniel)
kaleidoscope eyes and monochrome hearts washed away all the grey.
a/n: inception au. i'm sorry for this writer's block mess orz. daniel is this little puppy and i really do ship krystal with the world!
they open their eyes to a pink sky streaked with lilac, the sun burning everything coral and orange. grass rustles against their cheeks (a faint tinge of pink offsetting the green), wind passing over and under their bodies, between their outstretched palms and loosely curled fingers.
he feels her fingers, a light touch, almost nonexistent, for a brief moment before they slide down once more. laughter bubbles through his chest, slowly, like his body can’t keep up with what he wants it to do (it may be a side effect) and ripples through the air.
“we did it, krys,” he laughs again, turning his head to the side to face her. she gives him a small smile in reply, eyes slightly crinkling and lips slightly upturned. (like she is still tired) it is not enough but he accepts it, accepts it because it’s something, and smiles back.
they are at peace.
this is their dream.
she holds his hand and takes him where she wants to go. paris, london, prague, venice. he follows, footsteps behind her, loud in quiet alleys where she lets herself lean her head on his shoulder.
they see everything. and she is smiling now, that eye crinkling smile that lights up her whole face, the one he swears takes more muscles than how many it takes for her to frown, and he regrets nothing.
he does not regret leaving life behind for a lie.
(because lies are beautiful, can continue to be beautiful if you believe in them hard enough over the truth.)
“did we come here for a special reason?” she asks him as they are walking. they catch each other before they can step into the crevices of uneven cobblestones.
he trains his gaze straight ahead, to the road before them. he cannot see the end to it. “don’t think about that,” he tells her. squeezes her hand in his. “just think about this, right now.”
she doesn’t say much more after that.
she makes it snow in los angeles.
he makes it stop.
he stands with her against the waves, water slapping against their legs and soaking their shirts with the spray.
“we have to go under,” he screams against the tide. she watches the ocean warily, doubtful. “we’re going back to the place where we started.”
“but why aren’t we going all the way back?” she yells back. the ocean hits them, submerging them for a second beneath the grey-blue. it’s coming, they both know. it’s coming - the wave picks up in the distance, dark as a lagoon on a misty day - ready to take them back to peace, just hang on, hang on for a little while -
why are we - the water swallows her voice.
the ocean presses down on them until they suffocate beneath the black.
and there, he dreams about fear, about her and the truth, the snowy days that she didn’t need him for and the world that he couldn’t give her.
(the past.)
they open their eyes to a pink sky streaked with lilac, the sun burning everything coral and orange. grass rustles against their cheeks (a faint tinge of pink offsetting the green), wind passing over and under their bodies, between their outstretched palms and loosely curled fingers.
he feels her fingers, tracing his with her nails. “where to next?” he asks, turning his head to face her. she stares at him.
“anywhere.”
they run through the countryside barefoot, soil sticking between their toes, seeds in their hair. she laughs as he barrels into her, picking her up and placing her back down on the ground.
he holds her hand in his. she lets him. they walk to the bridge overlooking the beach and stare at the cerulean water and the sun’s silvery reflection.
“are we supposed to go under again?” she asks him, eyes fixed on the sea. he stiffens beside her, gripping her fingers tighter, afraid to let go.
“not this time.” tries to catch her gaze. she does not give it to him. “not until I say so.”
(lies are beautiful and the truth will never be. but we live the lie in fear, in fear of the truth coming and finding us, in fear of what we know dissipating.)
it snows in seoul.
he lets her feel the winter.
the city rushes by them, long horizontal blurs of grey concrete and colorful advertisements. her cheek presses against the glass, back facing forward, eyes trained to what they’re leaving behind. doesn’t smile. (she hasn’t for a while)
“why are we here?” she asks as they bump along the rails. steel screeches beneath. he forgets where he wants to take her.
“aren’t you happy here?” he asks, meeting her gaze. her eyes look tired, tired rimmed with uncertainty about everything.
she looks back outside. takes a breath, one two three four, fogging up the glass.
“I don’t know.”
she jumps off a building that night.
she opens her eyes to a pink sky streaked with lilac, the sun burning everything coral and orange. grass rustles against her cheeks (a faint tinge of pink offsetting the green), wind passing over and under her body, between her outstretched palms and loosely curled fingers.
life is not like this. sits up, early winter wind biting her cheeks red. life is not beautiful. remembers the thinking, the numbness, his hand to hold, him to hurt, her to feel wronged and bad and horrible because humanity is like that, bad and horrible but -
she rises to her feet, coral burning her black hair. stares up into the sky, closes her eyes, and feels it.
(the truth is: you will always remember you believed a lie.
lies aren’t the little things - the little things that make us us, that are waiting to be realized one day, that make being here worth it.
lies cannot make you happy.)
he wakes up to the sun turning him coral and orange, palms facing the sky. closes his loosely curled fingers on air.
turns his head to the side. she is not there, not there to give him a smile or dark-eyed look. not there to lean her head against his shoulder, not there to hold his hand in hers.
she did it. closes his eyes and hides his face from the world. she is at peace. peeks at the pink sky through shadowy orange fingers and feels the wind run over him, him alone, filling all the empty spaces she left.
this is his dream.
(you are here because you are, because you are going to find out why for yourself, because you are already part of this world. wakes up with the words on the tip of her tongue, words she cannot say, words she cannot remember. only the feeling lingers in her memories and him, him who she left behind, who she wanted to give the words to the most.
we are here so everything can happen.
we are here so this could happen.)
1,163w; pg (krystal/daniel)
kaleidoscope eyes and monochrome hearts washed away all the grey.
a/n: inception au. i'm sorry for this writer's block mess orz. daniel is this little puppy and i really do ship krystal with the world!
they open their eyes to a pink sky streaked with lilac, the sun burning everything coral and orange. grass rustles against their cheeks (a faint tinge of pink offsetting the green), wind passing over and under their bodies, between their outstretched palms and loosely curled fingers.
he feels her fingers, a light touch, almost nonexistent, for a brief moment before they slide down once more. laughter bubbles through his chest, slowly, like his body can’t keep up with what he wants it to do (it may be a side effect) and ripples through the air.
“we did it, krys,” he laughs again, turning his head to the side to face her. she gives him a small smile in reply, eyes slightly crinkling and lips slightly upturned. (like she is still tired) it is not enough but he accepts it, accepts it because it’s something, and smiles back.
they are at peace.
this is their dream.
she holds his hand and takes him where she wants to go. paris, london, prague, venice. he follows, footsteps behind her, loud in quiet alleys where she lets herself lean her head on his shoulder.
they see everything. and she is smiling now, that eye crinkling smile that lights up her whole face, the one he swears takes more muscles than how many it takes for her to frown, and he regrets nothing.
he does not regret leaving life behind for a lie.
(because lies are beautiful, can continue to be beautiful if you believe in them hard enough over the truth.)
“did we come here for a special reason?” she asks him as they are walking. they catch each other before they can step into the crevices of uneven cobblestones.
he trains his gaze straight ahead, to the road before them. he cannot see the end to it. “don’t think about that,” he tells her. squeezes her hand in his. “just think about this, right now.”
she doesn’t say much more after that.
she makes it snow in los angeles.
he makes it stop.
he stands with her against the waves, water slapping against their legs and soaking their shirts with the spray.
“we have to go under,” he screams against the tide. she watches the ocean warily, doubtful. “we’re going back to the place where we started.”
“but why aren’t we going all the way back?” she yells back. the ocean hits them, submerging them for a second beneath the grey-blue. it’s coming, they both know. it’s coming - the wave picks up in the distance, dark as a lagoon on a misty day - ready to take them back to peace, just hang on, hang on for a little while -
why are we - the water swallows her voice.
the ocean presses down on them until they suffocate beneath the black.
and there, he dreams about fear, about her and the truth, the snowy days that she didn’t need him for and the world that he couldn’t give her.
(the past.)
they open their eyes to a pink sky streaked with lilac, the sun burning everything coral and orange. grass rustles against their cheeks (a faint tinge of pink offsetting the green), wind passing over and under their bodies, between their outstretched palms and loosely curled fingers.
he feels her fingers, tracing his with her nails. “where to next?” he asks, turning his head to face her. she stares at him.
“anywhere.”
they run through the countryside barefoot, soil sticking between their toes, seeds in their hair. she laughs as he barrels into her, picking her up and placing her back down on the ground.
he holds her hand in his. she lets him. they walk to the bridge overlooking the beach and stare at the cerulean water and the sun’s silvery reflection.
“are we supposed to go under again?” she asks him, eyes fixed on the sea. he stiffens beside her, gripping her fingers tighter, afraid to let go.
“not this time.” tries to catch her gaze. she does not give it to him. “not until I say so.”
(lies are beautiful and the truth will never be. but we live the lie in fear, in fear of the truth coming and finding us, in fear of what we know dissipating.)
it snows in seoul.
he lets her feel the winter.
the city rushes by them, long horizontal blurs of grey concrete and colorful advertisements. her cheek presses against the glass, back facing forward, eyes trained to what they’re leaving behind. doesn’t smile. (she hasn’t for a while)
“why are we here?” she asks as they bump along the rails. steel screeches beneath. he forgets where he wants to take her.
“aren’t you happy here?” he asks, meeting her gaze. her eyes look tired, tired rimmed with uncertainty about everything.
she looks back outside. takes a breath, one two three four, fogging up the glass.
“I don’t know.”
she jumps off a building that night.
she opens her eyes to a pink sky streaked with lilac, the sun burning everything coral and orange. grass rustles against her cheeks (a faint tinge of pink offsetting the green), wind passing over and under her body, between her outstretched palms and loosely curled fingers.
life is not like this. sits up, early winter wind biting her cheeks red. life is not beautiful. remembers the thinking, the numbness, his hand to hold, him to hurt, her to feel wronged and bad and horrible because humanity is like that, bad and horrible but -
she rises to her feet, coral burning her black hair. stares up into the sky, closes her eyes, and feels it.
(the truth is: you will always remember you believed a lie.
lies aren’t the little things - the little things that make us us, that are waiting to be realized one day, that make being here worth it.
lies cannot make you happy.)
he wakes up to the sun turning him coral and orange, palms facing the sky. closes his loosely curled fingers on air.
turns his head to the side. she is not there, not there to give him a smile or dark-eyed look. not there to lean her head against his shoulder, not there to hold his hand in hers.
she did it. closes his eyes and hides his face from the world. she is at peace. peeks at the pink sky through shadowy orange fingers and feels the wind run over him, him alone, filling all the empty spaces she left.
this is his dream.
(you are here because you are, because you are going to find out why for yourself, because you are already part of this world. wakes up with the words on the tip of her tongue, words she cannot say, words she cannot remember. only the feeling lingers in her memories and him, him who she left behind, who she wanted to give the words to the most.
we are here so everything can happen.
we are here so this could happen.)