take me to the finish line
undoing
148w; pg-13 (jihae/eli)
in shades of gray and white.
“i think i loved you.” it comes out between twiddling thumbs and chapped lips. he looks up, glances at her face, looks back down. there is no reaction. this is no confession, he tells himself. he thinks that maybe the words were blown away by the cold winter wind before they could reach her ears.
her hair slaps against her face, tangling and flying, anchored to her head. past tenses, she thinks. that’s all they are, all they can be. all they could be. what is there to fight for? what is there to hold on to? she could ask, but they weren’t much for talking. instead, she just stares ahead, the gray horizon bleak and colorlessly pale.
“i think i loved you.” he repeats it for good measure, because he likes the sound of the solemn words tickling his ears.
too bad that she doesn’t fucking care.
ricochet
353w; pg-13 (jaeseop/jiyeon)
can't break away, can't care.
who understands?
“i mean, it’s just so hard,” suzy sobs over the phone. you clutch it to your ear, fingers curling and knuckles white. i know, you’ve been saying for the past hour. she doesn’t believe you.
“i just wish he was here.” you barely hear her whisper, soft and barely audible amidst the static of the land line. stop complaining, no, you don’t understand. at least he’ll come back, at least he calls, at least he reminds you that he loves you -
“i know,” you say instead, for the fourty-fifth time in one hundred and twenty minutes. she hangs up without asking how you feel.
“how are you?” his drowsy voice feels warm in your ear. he sounds so relaxed, so at ease, so - don’t you miss me like i miss you?
you swallow. “great.” you stare at the tv screen, a romantic comedy on mute cutting through the dark. “how are you?”
“fine.” silence. what are we other than one syllable answers? the on-screen lovers bicker, yelling at each other harshly. second pass. minutes.
you cave. “do you miss me?” you sound greedy to your own ears, craving a piece of his heart and thoughts to hold onto, to know is yours. don’t you still love me?
he doesn’t say anything. you sit in silence, forgetting that you’re even on the phone until you feel the cramp in your right hand.
“what do you give me to miss?” he’s honest, almost frighteningly so, and it hurts. i would, but i don’t know how anymore.
you hang up. fuck this, but it still stings, raw and pulsing.
“this is exhausting,” you remember telling him. he’s just off the plane, you really shouldn’t say that, but you do. what is there to pretend? you wonder as your fingers tremble, blood singing in your veins.
his hand reaches for yours. “i know,” he whispers. his breath feels hot against your fingers and he’s here, he’s really here.
you feel like you might just cry, you feel like he might just understand.
(memories are faulty things, but you feel like in that moment, he did.)
winter white
132w; pg-13 (myungsoo/suzy)
you and i, counterclockwise.
“it’s ok to be scared, suzy.” he holds onto her freezing hand. her toes are cold, too, knocking into his shin like a swing on her knee joint.
she doesn’t look at him, doesn’t lift her head to look into his eyes. i will not be afraid. her fingers fall limp in his, glassy black eyes staring at the floor. do not tell me what to do.
he lifts her palm to his and he can see that it’s white, winter white, and just as startlingly cold as the rest of her.
(it doesn’t stop him from leaving the next day. i will not be afraid, she whispers five hundred and sixty-four times, breaking little by little each time until she’s nothing more than a girl who can’t sleep without a nightlight.)
prelude to departure
74w; pg-13 (jaeseop/kiseop)
the penultimate (un)conclusion.
“you’re better than this, kiseop,” jaeseop tells him when he traces his scars lightly. it almost tickles, almost makes the pain go away, almost until he spoke. he jerks his arm away, feeling betrayed.
what do you know? he wants to counter. but he doesn’t, because kiseop isn’t aggressive. passive, passive, passive, he reminds himself and puts on a smile.
“it’s not like it hurts.” he fails halfway to reassuring, settling for masochistic instead.
beat inside me
220w; pg-13 (soohyun/jaeseop)
does anyone remember atlas?
“who listens to you?”
the question catches you off-guard. who listens to you? it echoes in your head, a pair of shrewd eyes waiting for a response. who listens to you?
who can you burden? certainly not kiseop, not kiseop who is just starting to walk on his own with shaky legs. one, two, three steps farther away from you but you keep cheering anyway because that’s what you’re supposed to do. not dongho, dongho who doesn’t know what to say, what to tell you after you cry on his shoulder. eli and kevin, who turn a blind eye when you’re struggling to resurface, encouraging you with mottos of resilience and true grit while you’re just floundering to tread water. but hoon, how can you break hoon when he’s so good and innocent and pure white - untainted?
“who listens to you?” he’s smart, wise beyond his years, jaded and broken, and he already knows the answer to this question.
no one. you can’t say the words, not after all this time when they were forced to be stuck in your throat. no one. you choke, cough, sputter.
his hand laces through yours. you’re still alive. you’re still human. the night is dark and clouded, pollution marring the starry sky.
you feel surprisingly warm, and you haven’t for a long time.
148w; pg-13 (jihae/eli)
in shades of gray and white.
“i think i loved you.” it comes out between twiddling thumbs and chapped lips. he looks up, glances at her face, looks back down. there is no reaction. this is no confession, he tells himself. he thinks that maybe the words were blown away by the cold winter wind before they could reach her ears.
her hair slaps against her face, tangling and flying, anchored to her head. past tenses, she thinks. that’s all they are, all they can be. all they could be. what is there to fight for? what is there to hold on to? she could ask, but they weren’t much for talking. instead, she just stares ahead, the gray horizon bleak and colorlessly pale.
“i think i loved you.” he repeats it for good measure, because he likes the sound of the solemn words tickling his ears.
too bad that she doesn’t fucking care.
ricochet
353w; pg-13 (jaeseop/jiyeon)
can't break away, can't care.
who understands?
“i mean, it’s just so hard,” suzy sobs over the phone. you clutch it to your ear, fingers curling and knuckles white. i know, you’ve been saying for the past hour. she doesn’t believe you.
“i just wish he was here.” you barely hear her whisper, soft and barely audible amidst the static of the land line. stop complaining, no, you don’t understand. at least he’ll come back, at least he calls, at least he reminds you that he loves you -
“i know,” you say instead, for the fourty-fifth time in one hundred and twenty minutes. she hangs up without asking how you feel.
“how are you?” his drowsy voice feels warm in your ear. he sounds so relaxed, so at ease, so - don’t you miss me like i miss you?
you swallow. “great.” you stare at the tv screen, a romantic comedy on mute cutting through the dark. “how are you?”
“fine.” silence. what are we other than one syllable answers? the on-screen lovers bicker, yelling at each other harshly. second pass. minutes.
you cave. “do you miss me?” you sound greedy to your own ears, craving a piece of his heart and thoughts to hold onto, to know is yours. don’t you still love me?
he doesn’t say anything. you sit in silence, forgetting that you’re even on the phone until you feel the cramp in your right hand.
“what do you give me to miss?” he’s honest, almost frighteningly so, and it hurts. i would, but i don’t know how anymore.
you hang up. fuck this, but it still stings, raw and pulsing.
“this is exhausting,” you remember telling him. he’s just off the plane, you really shouldn’t say that, but you do. what is there to pretend? you wonder as your fingers tremble, blood singing in your veins.
his hand reaches for yours. “i know,” he whispers. his breath feels hot against your fingers and he’s here, he’s really here.
you feel like you might just cry, you feel like he might just understand.
(memories are faulty things, but you feel like in that moment, he did.)
winter white
132w; pg-13 (myungsoo/suzy)
you and i, counterclockwise.
“it’s ok to be scared, suzy.” he holds onto her freezing hand. her toes are cold, too, knocking into his shin like a swing on her knee joint.
she doesn’t look at him, doesn’t lift her head to look into his eyes. i will not be afraid. her fingers fall limp in his, glassy black eyes staring at the floor. do not tell me what to do.
he lifts her palm to his and he can see that it’s white, winter white, and just as startlingly cold as the rest of her.
(it doesn’t stop him from leaving the next day. i will not be afraid, she whispers five hundred and sixty-four times, breaking little by little each time until she’s nothing more than a girl who can’t sleep without a nightlight.)
prelude to departure
74w; pg-13 (jaeseop/kiseop)
the penultimate (un)conclusion.
“you’re better than this, kiseop,” jaeseop tells him when he traces his scars lightly. it almost tickles, almost makes the pain go away, almost until he spoke. he jerks his arm away, feeling betrayed.
what do you know? he wants to counter. but he doesn’t, because kiseop isn’t aggressive. passive, passive, passive, he reminds himself and puts on a smile.
“it’s not like it hurts.” he fails halfway to reassuring, settling for masochistic instead.
beat inside me
220w; pg-13 (soohyun/jaeseop)
does anyone remember atlas?
“who listens to you?”
the question catches you off-guard. who listens to you? it echoes in your head, a pair of shrewd eyes waiting for a response. who listens to you?
who can you burden? certainly not kiseop, not kiseop who is just starting to walk on his own with shaky legs. one, two, three steps farther away from you but you keep cheering anyway because that’s what you’re supposed to do. not dongho, dongho who doesn’t know what to say, what to tell you after you cry on his shoulder. eli and kevin, who turn a blind eye when you’re struggling to resurface, encouraging you with mottos of resilience and true grit while you’re just floundering to tread water. but hoon, how can you break hoon when he’s so good and innocent and pure white - untainted?
“who listens to you?” he’s smart, wise beyond his years, jaded and broken, and he already knows the answer to this question.
no one. you can’t say the words, not after all this time when they were forced to be stuck in your throat. no one. you choke, cough, sputter.
his hand laces through yours. you’re still alive. you’re still human. the night is dark and clouded, pollution marring the starry sky.
you feel surprisingly warm, and you haven’t for a long time.