you take it all away
halcyon
134w; pg (soohyun-centric, soohyun/kiseop)
you show me what it feels like to be lost.
There is nothing to hold onto. He doesn’t know if this is a relief or a disappointment. He is surrounded, people, places, lights. It feels lonely.
It doesn’t have to hurt, he guesses. But he makes it.
Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to loosen. Slip away, circle down the drain. The bolt is not hard to unscrew, he thinks.
Slip away, down to somewhere warm and finally feel at peace.
“Smile for me,” the younger boy’s voice pleads. Light fingers brush his elbow. It feels like destruction.
He tries, he really does, but it doesn’t satisfy Kiseop. The boy clings to his shirt and cries. He doesn’t know if the tears are for him or them or everyone, only knows that it hurts.
You made it this way, he reminds himself.
complex creatures (me? ...we!)
240w; pg (jaeseop-centric, jaeseop/ns yoonji, jaeseop/kiseop)
and it's all our fault.
it’s hard to map them out. he tries drawing lines, frames, skeletons, sinew and muscles. it’s hard, so he gives up.
he is not sure how exactly to understand them.
she’s crying again. it’s something you said, her mouth accuses. the tears spill, staining the carpet. he dislikes the dark circle spots they leave on the grey. frowns. get out, please.
i hate you, she shouts. he watches her as she fades into a silhouette against the rain. what did he do wrong? he was only being polite.
it frustrates him. he is not sure how exactly to understand her.
a lot of them leak like her. all water and deflating, reminding him of melting snowmen. but they’re not snowmen, he tells himself. snowmen are simple.
humans are complex.
“it’s like you’re almost not human,” the older boy tells him with a small smile. that smile gives him a headache. there’s something wrong with it.
“what do you mean?” the words are oily in his mouth. there’s something wrong with him.
the other boy sighs. “you don’t seem to feel anything.” the smile twists downward. he does not know what this kind of face is called. he cannot remember.
he watches him leak. he thinks badly of himself. chest tightens, sinew and muscles. it’s not normal.
there’s something wrong with them.
it’s called human.
“and you’re one, too,” he reminds himself.
(he is not sure how exactly to understand this)
the pedantic romantic
172w; pg (insert your favorite het pairing here, changmin/yoona or jihae/eli)
swelling to a blaze.
a/n: you can imagine the characters as your favorite pairing, i imagine this as changmin/yoona or jihae/eli orz
the pedantic romantic settles in between his skin; closed eyes facing the sky. he does not know what to do, what to say, so he just lets her stay there, too lazy to pry her clinging fingers off.
the pedantic romantic sings. dances. tells him her strengths, eyes wandering toward him every now and then to make sure her efforts are being seen.
he does not clap. does not tell her that this is a world of showing, not telling.
she continues to tell him who she is through every broken half note. he stops listening.
the pedantic romantic will get him sometimes, unassuming laughter between unsmiling lips. it does not feel real. it is then she smiles, smiles for him, not herself. satisfaction glitters her eyes.
he will not fight it, though. keeps laughing, telling the world that he does not know what to feel.
the pedantic romantic shatters a mirror one day.
showed her the truth, that thing did. her clinging fingers loosen.
they tell him to stop clinging on.
when it's just us
308w; pg (myungsoo/suzy)
promise not to promise anymore.
they are forever summer. sun-streaked hair, peeling sunburns, and flip flop tans. they believe in forever summer. backyard firecrackers, cloud laced skies, and kicking around soda cans.
they believe and are, so therefore they believe it is and always will be.
things are left behind. dimes and nickels. the fascination of the (not really) silver. years come. one, two, three, four. continuing to pass, like waves out in the ocean.
five. it takes them under.
they are always winter. frost white palms, wool sweaters, and unpleasant scowls. they think that winter is real. early evenings, freezing toes, and too many people wearing cowls.
she misses summer. he lets himself forget.
it is an autumn too late when he forgets her name. the last rays of summer are still here. he should remember. he thinks about it. she stands before him, biting lips and fidgety hands.
i’m sorry, i don’t - she cuts him off.
sorry doesn’t make up for things like this. and just like that, she knows that summer has ended, has ceased to be. walks away. may it rest in peace.
it comes to him in droves, murmuring in his ear like whispers. a forever summer. the smell of sun on their skin. her smile, his smile.
he remembers they believed and were. the guitar hums beneath his fingers, hollow and lonely.
they believed and were. forever summer. crinkles his eyebrows. thinks harder.
suzy. a cacophony on the strings. suzy.
(she believed they still were, even when he let himself forget. sorry for holding on, sorry for waiting, sorry for this, sorry it had to be like this, sorry we had to end -
sorry doesn’t make up for things like this. she is long gone. he sits alone, guitar in his lap.
sorry for ending summer. no one is listening.
he strums. may it rest in peace.)
figure 8
171w; pg (jaeseop-centric)
between the alleys of these houses.
It’s like being severed at the limbs halfway.
“You’ll be back, right?” Kevin asks. It might have been Kiseop. He’s not sure anymore, voices blend together and grow louder, penetrating his ears. They all say the same thing.
“Of course,” he replies. It’s like a default but lacking a smile.
He sits on the floor looking at his empty desk. There was not much to begin with. No indent on the bed, no marks left behind. He was not much to begin with.
Easy to pack away and ship off. The duct tape suddenly disgusts him.
Ambivalent. The word accuses him all the way to the airport. It feels like he’s being quartered, different parts of him scattering all over the place. He doesn’t know where the whole of him belongs.
His arms are pumice. Lead. Suitcases create a symphony against the linoleum floor.
(ending is never easy for him. his breath catches in his throat, hitches there for what feels like an eternity. exhale. inhale. repeat.
nothing comes easy anymore.)
134w; pg (soohyun-centric, soohyun/kiseop)
you show me what it feels like to be lost.
There is nothing to hold onto. He doesn’t know if this is a relief or a disappointment. He is surrounded, people, places, lights. It feels lonely.
It doesn’t have to hurt, he guesses. But he makes it.
Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to loosen. Slip away, circle down the drain. The bolt is not hard to unscrew, he thinks.
Slip away, down to somewhere warm and finally feel at peace.
“Smile for me,” the younger boy’s voice pleads. Light fingers brush his elbow. It feels like destruction.
He tries, he really does, but it doesn’t satisfy Kiseop. The boy clings to his shirt and cries. He doesn’t know if the tears are for him or them or everyone, only knows that it hurts.
You made it this way, he reminds himself.
complex creatures (me? ...we!)
240w; pg (jaeseop-centric, jaeseop/ns yoonji, jaeseop/kiseop)
and it's all our fault.
it’s hard to map them out. he tries drawing lines, frames, skeletons, sinew and muscles. it’s hard, so he gives up.
he is not sure how exactly to understand them.
she’s crying again. it’s something you said, her mouth accuses. the tears spill, staining the carpet. he dislikes the dark circle spots they leave on the grey. frowns. get out, please.
i hate you, she shouts. he watches her as she fades into a silhouette against the rain. what did he do wrong? he was only being polite.
it frustrates him. he is not sure how exactly to understand her.
a lot of them leak like her. all water and deflating, reminding him of melting snowmen. but they’re not snowmen, he tells himself. snowmen are simple.
humans are complex.
“it’s like you’re almost not human,” the older boy tells him with a small smile. that smile gives him a headache. there’s something wrong with it.
“what do you mean?” the words are oily in his mouth. there’s something wrong with him.
the other boy sighs. “you don’t seem to feel anything.” the smile twists downward. he does not know what this kind of face is called. he cannot remember.
he watches him leak. he thinks badly of himself. chest tightens, sinew and muscles. it’s not normal.
there’s something wrong with them.
it’s called human.
“and you’re one, too,” he reminds himself.
(he is not sure how exactly to understand this)
the pedantic romantic
172w; pg (insert your favorite het pairing here, changmin/yoona or jihae/eli)
swelling to a blaze.
a/n: you can imagine the characters as your favorite pairing, i imagine this as changmin/yoona or jihae/eli orz
the pedantic romantic settles in between his skin; closed eyes facing the sky. he does not know what to do, what to say, so he just lets her stay there, too lazy to pry her clinging fingers off.
the pedantic romantic sings. dances. tells him her strengths, eyes wandering toward him every now and then to make sure her efforts are being seen.
he does not clap. does not tell her that this is a world of showing, not telling.
she continues to tell him who she is through every broken half note. he stops listening.
the pedantic romantic will get him sometimes, unassuming laughter between unsmiling lips. it does not feel real. it is then she smiles, smiles for him, not herself. satisfaction glitters her eyes.
he will not fight it, though. keeps laughing, telling the world that he does not know what to feel.
the pedantic romantic shatters a mirror one day.
showed her the truth, that thing did. her clinging fingers loosen.
they tell him to stop clinging on.
when it's just us
308w; pg (myungsoo/suzy)
promise not to promise anymore.
they are forever summer. sun-streaked hair, peeling sunburns, and flip flop tans. they believe in forever summer. backyard firecrackers, cloud laced skies, and kicking around soda cans.
they believe and are, so therefore they believe it is and always will be.
things are left behind. dimes and nickels. the fascination of the (not really) silver. years come. one, two, three, four. continuing to pass, like waves out in the ocean.
five. it takes them under.
they are always winter. frost white palms, wool sweaters, and unpleasant scowls. they think that winter is real. early evenings, freezing toes, and too many people wearing cowls.
she misses summer. he lets himself forget.
it is an autumn too late when he forgets her name. the last rays of summer are still here. he should remember. he thinks about it. she stands before him, biting lips and fidgety hands.
i’m sorry, i don’t - she cuts him off.
sorry doesn’t make up for things like this. and just like that, she knows that summer has ended, has ceased to be. walks away. may it rest in peace.
it comes to him in droves, murmuring in his ear like whispers. a forever summer. the smell of sun on their skin. her smile, his smile.
he remembers they believed and were. the guitar hums beneath his fingers, hollow and lonely.
they believed and were. forever summer. crinkles his eyebrows. thinks harder.
suzy. a cacophony on the strings. suzy.
(she believed they still were, even when he let himself forget. sorry for holding on, sorry for waiting, sorry for this, sorry it had to be like this, sorry we had to end -
sorry doesn’t make up for things like this. she is long gone. he sits alone, guitar in his lap.
sorry for ending summer. no one is listening.
he strums. may it rest in peace.)
figure 8
171w; pg (jaeseop-centric)
between the alleys of these houses.
It’s like being severed at the limbs halfway.
“You’ll be back, right?” Kevin asks. It might have been Kiseop. He’s not sure anymore, voices blend together and grow louder, penetrating his ears. They all say the same thing.
“Of course,” he replies. It’s like a default but lacking a smile.
He sits on the floor looking at his empty desk. There was not much to begin with. No indent on the bed, no marks left behind. He was not much to begin with.
Easy to pack away and ship off. The duct tape suddenly disgusts him.
Ambivalent. The word accuses him all the way to the airport. It feels like he’s being quartered, different parts of him scattering all over the place. He doesn’t know where the whole of him belongs.
His arms are pumice. Lead. Suitcases create a symphony against the linoleum floor.
(ending is never easy for him. his breath catches in his throat, hitches there for what feels like an eternity. exhale. inhale. repeat.
nothing comes easy anymore.)