[10] roadmap (i might get lost in you); qmi; pg
title: roadmap (i might get lost in you)
fandom: super junior m
pairing: zhou mi/kyuhyun
rating: PG
summary: zhou mi has never confessed before.
notes: inspired by this and by being in a weird mood. all i ever write is soppy romance. i should branch out.
You like him. You like him, you like you, you like him (the litany runs through your head), and you're never going to say a thing. Someone got you to admit in an interview once that you're not the type to confess, even if you write lyrics like you know what you're talking about. You pretend you know what it feels like, but it's only make believe, because you don't. You've never confessed. You're not sure you ever will. The thrill of it, the terror of putting yourself out there, raw and open and vulnerable, for someone else to accept or reject - it is not something you think you're brave enough to do.
Instead you write songs about falling in love and staying in love, because you know what that is like, at least, even if you're never going to say anything.
You doodle hearts and airplanes on his napkin when you're waiting for food. You pretend you don't like some of his favorite foods just so you can move it to his plate. You show him your favorite dramas and make him listen to your favorite songs, and fall a little harder when he learns how to sing them.
You put your arm around him whenever you can, just because it's easy and familiar. You like the way he leans back into you, turns his head to whisper into your ear. You like the way he laughs, even when he's laughing at you, and hugging you in apology later.
You feel ridiculous, always smiling at him, always doing little things for him. You wonder if he notices (or if anyone else does), but you've never fielded suspicious glances. You try not to make it obvious, of course: you're nice to everyone. You tease everyone, compliment them too, sample Ryeowook's food and talk about how cute Henry is. But it is always him you stand beside (it's just because that's your line order, you remind yourself), always him who makes your heart flutter in your chest.
You like him, you like him, you like him. And these are the things you write into songs, because these are the things you know. It's in the way you lean your head on his shoulder when you're tired (and he lets you); it's in the way your hands are so carefully steady as you slide the tie around his collar and knot it for him. It's in the way he's the first one you turn to when a joke is told, to share it with him, his dark eyes lit with laughter. You like him so much you're afraid to put it in words, so you will never tell him.
Not out loud, anyway.
You tell him every day with the little gestures, little gifts. You tell him every time you sing a line from one of your favorite songs and patiently teach it to him when he asks. You tell him every time you keep him company late into the night while he plays computer games and half-ignores you. You tell him when your eyes meet his and you're both laughing, on stage or off stage, never a veneer of pretense between the two of you when it comes to this.
It's exhilarating and it's frightening, this thing that might be love. It keeps you on your toes, your stomach flip-flopping without your permission, and your head lost in the clouds. If he can do this to you without even knowing how you feel, you fear what he might be able to do if he ever found out. What would it be like for him to curl into your arms, head fitted under your chin? What would it be like to feel that smile against yours, to hear his pretty (oh so pretty) voice moan your name?
You shy away from those thoughts because they stutter like a broken film reel in your mind, half-formed and teasing. There is a whole world of maybes and what-ifs that you cannot bear to consider. This is good enough. This, itself - him with you, him reaching for your hand, his voice warm with your name - is enough. This is happiness. You're not greedy.
I like you, I like you, I like you.
If, one day, you hear those words from his lips, maybe then you will say something. Maybe then you will confess, secure in the knowledge that if you fall, he will catch you.
Until then, you continue to trace his name into the sheets as you sleep, and dream of his head on the pillow beside you.
fandom: super junior m
pairing: zhou mi/kyuhyun
rating: PG
summary: zhou mi has never confessed before.
notes: inspired by this and by being in a weird mood. all i ever write is soppy romance. i should branch out.
You like him. You like him, you like you, you like him (the litany runs through your head), and you're never going to say a thing. Someone got you to admit in an interview once that you're not the type to confess, even if you write lyrics like you know what you're talking about. You pretend you know what it feels like, but it's only make believe, because you don't. You've never confessed. You're not sure you ever will. The thrill of it, the terror of putting yourself out there, raw and open and vulnerable, for someone else to accept or reject - it is not something you think you're brave enough to do.
Instead you write songs about falling in love and staying in love, because you know what that is like, at least, even if you're never going to say anything.
You doodle hearts and airplanes on his napkin when you're waiting for food. You pretend you don't like some of his favorite foods just so you can move it to his plate. You show him your favorite dramas and make him listen to your favorite songs, and fall a little harder when he learns how to sing them.
You put your arm around him whenever you can, just because it's easy and familiar. You like the way he leans back into you, turns his head to whisper into your ear. You like the way he laughs, even when he's laughing at you, and hugging you in apology later.
You feel ridiculous, always smiling at him, always doing little things for him. You wonder if he notices (or if anyone else does), but you've never fielded suspicious glances. You try not to make it obvious, of course: you're nice to everyone. You tease everyone, compliment them too, sample Ryeowook's food and talk about how cute Henry is. But it is always him you stand beside (it's just because that's your line order, you remind yourself), always him who makes your heart flutter in your chest.
You like him, you like him, you like him. And these are the things you write into songs, because these are the things you know. It's in the way you lean your head on his shoulder when you're tired (and he lets you); it's in the way your hands are so carefully steady as you slide the tie around his collar and knot it for him. It's in the way he's the first one you turn to when a joke is told, to share it with him, his dark eyes lit with laughter. You like him so much you're afraid to put it in words, so you will never tell him.
Not out loud, anyway.
You tell him every day with the little gestures, little gifts. You tell him every time you sing a line from one of your favorite songs and patiently teach it to him when he asks. You tell him every time you keep him company late into the night while he plays computer games and half-ignores you. You tell him when your eyes meet his and you're both laughing, on stage or off stage, never a veneer of pretense between the two of you when it comes to this.
It's exhilarating and it's frightening, this thing that might be love. It keeps you on your toes, your stomach flip-flopping without your permission, and your head lost in the clouds. If he can do this to you without even knowing how you feel, you fear what he might be able to do if he ever found out. What would it be like for him to curl into your arms, head fitted under your chin? What would it be like to feel that smile against yours, to hear his pretty (oh so pretty) voice moan your name?
You shy away from those thoughts because they stutter like a broken film reel in your mind, half-formed and teasing. There is a whole world of maybes and what-ifs that you cannot bear to consider. This is good enough. This, itself - him with you, him reaching for your hand, his voice warm with your name - is enough. This is happiness. You're not greedy.
I like you, I like you, I like you.
If, one day, you hear those words from his lips, maybe then you will say something. Maybe then you will confess, secure in the knowledge that if you fall, he will catch you.
Until then, you continue to trace his name into the sheets as you sleep, and dream of his head on the pillow beside you.