you told me you loved me (so why did you walk away)
forgive me (and forget)
394w; pg (soohyun/hyorin)
you gave me what i needed.
hyorin is thirteen when she learns she can’t be perfect. it’s an ugly number, ugly on the tongue, ugly in the mind. thirteen.
thirteen. mean faces and distorted words coming through her ears like she’s underwater. you can’t do anything. you can’t be anything. laughter, cruel, sharp, bitter.
thirteen. she fades and sinks beneath the surface. does anyone care?
she spends the next year in her room, scared of people.
“this is perfect.” his breath is warm against her palm, fingers tangled together. she stiffens. what ugly words, what farfetched lies, just no. stop it.
“get the fuck out of here.” she untangles herself from him, feeling cold in all the places he touched. but why, why hyorin? what did i do, what did i say, i’m sorry, sorry, please take me back. she throws something, a black blur across the room. the door slams and everything rattles. everything vibrates.
thirteen. her heart is pounding, singing in her ears, a harsh symphony that drowns out her tears.
“what did he ever do to you?” it should be easier, talking to bora. bora, bora who knows what she’s been through in a vicarious way.
it takes her a moment to think about it. perfect. an insult. she laughs dryly, rubbing her nose with her glove. what did he ever do to you?
“he lied to me.” somewhere in between, the laugh turns into a sob. what did he ever do to you?
he cared.
it’s like watching half a movie. she doesn’t get him, he doesn’t get her. just guessing through biting lips and body language. why are we trying? she wants to ask though it’s not really a “we” since she was the one who asked to see him.
“i’m sorry, hyorin.” he sounds reluctant, like he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for anymore. she doesn’t know either.
she stares into her coffee, feeling detached from the world. he’s trying too, he really is.
but that’s not enough.
“it’s ok,” is all she gives him, barely enough satisfaction to make him feel like the seven dollars he shelled out for their drinks was worth it.
(it’s not a goodbye, not a clean break. not even a break at all, just a memory that they’ll spend the rest of their lives wondering why, why couldn’t (s)he, why couldn’t we, and why didn’t you try harder.)
waltz v
202w; pg (changmin/yoona)
i never thought i could love anyone but myself.
he doesn’t need people. she doesn’t need them either. what’s the point when you’re just going to die alone? they’re incoherent thoughts, twisted and flowing into the next and next and next, but at the end of the day, they’re the ones that make the most sense.
“i won’t be coming back for a while.” he says the words slowly, hoping she doesn’t hear anything in them. they’re just words, factual and emotionally removed, at least they’re supposed to be.
he hears her take a deep breath. then another. is she crying? please don’t be crying, that just makes this messier than it already is. we’ve been playing pretend for two years, we’ve overstayed our welcome -
it turns out to be just a sneeze. “have a good trip.” they’re just words, factual and emotionally removed, just like he wants them to be. (but does he really want it to end like this?)
have a nice life. click.
she ends it before he can ponder on what if, cutting out the tumor before it infects the whole body.
(heartless. it’s what makes the most sense. dying alone, no intimacy, no scars, just leaving the memories underneath the surface so they can’t hurt, unremembered.)
for all that it's worth
332w; pg (broken!krystal/minho, krystal/chen, implied!sulli/minho)
and all that was left after that too.
“i’m sorry, soojung.” no, you’re not. she stares hard at her shoes, untying the laces in her mind. she tries not to think, not to shatter, but she can already feel bits of her fingers and toes breaking into tiny shards.
“you promised.” it comes out a little choked, but stronger than she thought it would be. she doesn’t complete the thought.
“i know.” that’s not the answer she wants. he’s spineless. useless. who can she believe anymore? everything feels numb, unreal.
he repeats the sickening words again. “i’m sorry, soojung.”
she leaves first, chin up, steady strides. it’s over. it’s over. leaves behind her heart, broken and bleeding, feeling nothing but anything.
it’s amber who tries to talk some sense into her.
“he has a right to break it off, krys. you were just using him anyway.” i don’t want to understand. she remains obstinate, turning over to face the wall.
you were just using him anyway. she hates the fact that she did, hates that she feels guilty about it now that it’s over.
“you still care about him.” he breaks it to her gently, like he does with everything. he’s careful around her, scared that she might break into pieces any day now. what holds her together?
“i don’t hate her, jongdae.” she sets her jaw stubbornly. she won’t admit to anything, won’t let herself have that satisfaction to heal. i don’t deserve that.
“then go apologize.” you deserve to have someone who listens.
she doesn’t let herself cave. she’s ruining f(x), she’s ruining sm, she’s ruining jongdae. so be it.
“stop being so fucking selfish,” jessica has the nerve to tell her one day. i’m not, she wants to reply, but who believes her?
i don’t deserve to be happy. everyone around her frowns, eyes watery. she breaks them all in some way, one by one, as if she’s turning into a monster they don’t know anymore.
she stares, unfeeling, into her own eyes. maybe you are selfish.
the people that we used to be
397w; pg-13 (baekhyun/iu)
i'll be alright, just not tonight.
a/n: belated, belated birthday present for wintercreamed. i hope you're doing great ;-; i miss you a lot!
it comes to him when he’s least expecting it. you’re stupid, the guitar tells him when he strums it. unintelligible, thoughtless. stupid. it sounds like her.
i didn’t want to be tied down. the bed sheets smell musty, the faint scent of detergent barely clinging on. she used to keep them really clean. nine pairs, he remembers. nine pairs. he only has three now.
he stares at the skylight until the sun leaves him blind. did we love each other?
“when are you going to get over him?” luna always asks. it’s been two years. get a hold of yourself, jieun. how does she answer?
he didn’t love her like she loved him. but did that make it not ok? she doesn’t know what, when, where, why, how anymore. she covers her eyes and counts backwards from ten.
“soon.” maybe never.
the alcohol goes straight to his nerves. everything feels blurry, disjointed. he wobbles a little as he walks down the street, midnight air cool against his skin. he should’ve brought a jacket. could’ve, but he remembers he’s stupid. too stupid to remember.
she lives around here. he remembers those autumn days, red and gold leaves littering the sidewalk, her blue coat and books as she turned the corner. she had a simple life. simple pleasures.
what was he, then? he traces his old footsteps, one, two, three, four. reaches the corner. he can’t bring himself to look down her street.
behind his closed eyes, he can almost see the first smile she gave him, eyes crinkling and teeth white.
she’s boarding her train when she thinks she sees him. guitar case slung over his shoulder, scowl heavy on his face. he’s not looking at her. something destructive grips her, i should go say hi, and before she finds an excuse, she’s walking toward him.
when are you going to get over him? she stops. a crowd of bustling people separate them. get a hold of yourself, jieun. he doesn’t seem to see her. she’s always been too short.
this isn’t the answer. she watches him walk away but some selfish part of her begs him to turn around and notice her.
she spends the next hour waiting for the train she missed, blinking so the tears stay in.
it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over -
he hates it. fuck everything. papers scatter on the floor.
394w; pg (soohyun/hyorin)
you gave me what i needed.
hyorin is thirteen when she learns she can’t be perfect. it’s an ugly number, ugly on the tongue, ugly in the mind. thirteen.
thirteen. mean faces and distorted words coming through her ears like she’s underwater. you can’t do anything. you can’t be anything. laughter, cruel, sharp, bitter.
thirteen. she fades and sinks beneath the surface. does anyone care?
she spends the next year in her room, scared of people.
“this is perfect.” his breath is warm against her palm, fingers tangled together. she stiffens. what ugly words, what farfetched lies, just no. stop it.
“get the fuck out of here.” she untangles herself from him, feeling cold in all the places he touched. but why, why hyorin? what did i do, what did i say, i’m sorry, sorry, please take me back. she throws something, a black blur across the room. the door slams and everything rattles. everything vibrates.
thirteen. her heart is pounding, singing in her ears, a harsh symphony that drowns out her tears.
“what did he ever do to you?” it should be easier, talking to bora. bora, bora who knows what she’s been through in a vicarious way.
it takes her a moment to think about it. perfect. an insult. she laughs dryly, rubbing her nose with her glove. what did he ever do to you?
“he lied to me.” somewhere in between, the laugh turns into a sob. what did he ever do to you?
he cared.
it’s like watching half a movie. she doesn’t get him, he doesn’t get her. just guessing through biting lips and body language. why are we trying? she wants to ask though it’s not really a “we” since she was the one who asked to see him.
“i’m sorry, hyorin.” he sounds reluctant, like he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for anymore. she doesn’t know either.
she stares into her coffee, feeling detached from the world. he’s trying too, he really is.
but that’s not enough.
“it’s ok,” is all she gives him, barely enough satisfaction to make him feel like the seven dollars he shelled out for their drinks was worth it.
(it’s not a goodbye, not a clean break. not even a break at all, just a memory that they’ll spend the rest of their lives wondering why, why couldn’t (s)he, why couldn’t we, and why didn’t you try harder.)
waltz v
202w; pg (changmin/yoona)
i never thought i could love anyone but myself.
he doesn’t need people. she doesn’t need them either. what’s the point when you’re just going to die alone? they’re incoherent thoughts, twisted and flowing into the next and next and next, but at the end of the day, they’re the ones that make the most sense.
“i won’t be coming back for a while.” he says the words slowly, hoping she doesn’t hear anything in them. they’re just words, factual and emotionally removed, at least they’re supposed to be.
he hears her take a deep breath. then another. is she crying? please don’t be crying, that just makes this messier than it already is. we’ve been playing pretend for two years, we’ve overstayed our welcome -
it turns out to be just a sneeze. “have a good trip.” they’re just words, factual and emotionally removed, just like he wants them to be. (but does he really want it to end like this?)
have a nice life. click.
she ends it before he can ponder on what if, cutting out the tumor before it infects the whole body.
(heartless. it’s what makes the most sense. dying alone, no intimacy, no scars, just leaving the memories underneath the surface so they can’t hurt, unremembered.)
for all that it's worth
332w; pg (broken!krystal/minho, krystal/chen, implied!sulli/minho)
and all that was left after that too.
“i’m sorry, soojung.” no, you’re not. she stares hard at her shoes, untying the laces in her mind. she tries not to think, not to shatter, but she can already feel bits of her fingers and toes breaking into tiny shards.
“you promised.” it comes out a little choked, but stronger than she thought it would be. she doesn’t complete the thought.
“i know.” that’s not the answer she wants. he’s spineless. useless. who can she believe anymore? everything feels numb, unreal.
he repeats the sickening words again. “i’m sorry, soojung.”
she leaves first, chin up, steady strides. it’s over. it’s over. leaves behind her heart, broken and bleeding, feeling nothing but anything.
it’s amber who tries to talk some sense into her.
“he has a right to break it off, krys. you were just using him anyway.” i don’t want to understand. she remains obstinate, turning over to face the wall.
you were just using him anyway. she hates the fact that she did, hates that she feels guilty about it now that it’s over.
“you still care about him.” he breaks it to her gently, like he does with everything. he’s careful around her, scared that she might break into pieces any day now. what holds her together?
“i don’t hate her, jongdae.” she sets her jaw stubbornly. she won’t admit to anything, won’t let herself have that satisfaction to heal. i don’t deserve that.
“then go apologize.” you deserve to have someone who listens.
she doesn’t let herself cave. she’s ruining f(x), she’s ruining sm, she’s ruining jongdae. so be it.
“stop being so fucking selfish,” jessica has the nerve to tell her one day. i’m not, she wants to reply, but who believes her?
i don’t deserve to be happy. everyone around her frowns, eyes watery. she breaks them all in some way, one by one, as if she’s turning into a monster they don’t know anymore.
she stares, unfeeling, into her own eyes. maybe you are selfish.
the people that we used to be
397w; pg-13 (baekhyun/iu)
i'll be alright, just not tonight.
a/n: belated, belated birthday present for wintercreamed. i hope you're doing great ;-; i miss you a lot!
it comes to him when he’s least expecting it. you’re stupid, the guitar tells him when he strums it. unintelligible, thoughtless. stupid. it sounds like her.
i didn’t want to be tied down. the bed sheets smell musty, the faint scent of detergent barely clinging on. she used to keep them really clean. nine pairs, he remembers. nine pairs. he only has three now.
he stares at the skylight until the sun leaves him blind. did we love each other?
“when are you going to get over him?” luna always asks. it’s been two years. get a hold of yourself, jieun. how does she answer?
he didn’t love her like she loved him. but did that make it not ok? she doesn’t know what, when, where, why, how anymore. she covers her eyes and counts backwards from ten.
“soon.” maybe never.
the alcohol goes straight to his nerves. everything feels blurry, disjointed. he wobbles a little as he walks down the street, midnight air cool against his skin. he should’ve brought a jacket. could’ve, but he remembers he’s stupid. too stupid to remember.
she lives around here. he remembers those autumn days, red and gold leaves littering the sidewalk, her blue coat and books as she turned the corner. she had a simple life. simple pleasures.
what was he, then? he traces his old footsteps, one, two, three, four. reaches the corner. he can’t bring himself to look down her street.
behind his closed eyes, he can almost see the first smile she gave him, eyes crinkling and teeth white.
she’s boarding her train when she thinks she sees him. guitar case slung over his shoulder, scowl heavy on his face. he’s not looking at her. something destructive grips her, i should go say hi, and before she finds an excuse, she’s walking toward him.
when are you going to get over him? she stops. a crowd of bustling people separate them. get a hold of yourself, jieun. he doesn’t seem to see her. she’s always been too short.
this isn’t the answer. she watches him walk away but some selfish part of her begs him to turn around and notice her.
she spends the next hour waiting for the train she missed, blinking so the tears stay in.
it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over -
he hates it. fuck everything. papers scatter on the floor.