flash blindness.
flash blindness
twojun (doojoon/junhyung), pg-13, goosebump-inducing unbeta'd
i'm getting rusty :(((( result of my depression lmao
it's either kill yourself first, or wait for death.
Yesterday's child stares into today's looking glass and wonders if this is how life should be- waking up to the sun's scalding touch, leaning over a sink smudged with dried toothpaste and shaving cream, waxing philosophical with a toothbrush jammed in one's mouth, life should be perfect.
Every day is a carbon copy of the previous day, and Junhyung is pretty sure that the days to come will be filled with
washing grooming eating walking working listening
shouting drinking fucking vomiting leaving dying.
Of course, he almost forgot about the war but the sea of static flowing from the radio is a good reminder of the situation outside.
This city is a steel skeleton, waiting to be buried under sand and blood.
The weather is partly cloudy with a chance of missiles today, and the newspapers bleed wars, violence, protests, assassinations in indifferent, black ink that sometimes speak of self-fulfilling prophecies. Junhyung doesn't even bother flipping through the papers because he knows what's printed in there and he watches the news on tv anyway, so he just sits on the floor, thinking.
"Hit me with your train of thoughts?"
Doojoon emerges from the bathroom, his lower torso wrapped in a thin blue towel. He jerks his wet chin in Junhyung's direction, expecting to hear a response.
Does that mean you want to die too? But of course, he shoves the words under his tongue. Besides, he's too busy watching droplets of water slide from the curve of Doojoon's neck to the edges of his collar bones.
/
He stares at the creases on Doojoon's forehead and stretches his fingers across the skin. If only he could erase those lines.
Do you honestly worry about such things? He remembers asking when they were sitting together, flipping through tv channels with their legs in a comfortable tangle. Every channel was painful to look at, flashes of too much red and powdered bones and meat hanging from tree branches (trees going, look at me, I'm now bone and flesh, I'm alive, I'm wearing a human suit) when a bomb decided to end itself and everyone else in a certain part of the city. Young men carving hate and distrust into each other's veins, young women tearing each other apart like wolves dressed as Little Red Riding Hoods. Politicians pointing fingers at each other, chopping off each other's fingers.
And Doojoon turned the volume down, silencing distant screams. He whispered,
I worry more about you.
I don't worry about teenagers stabbing each other out there or children playing with guns, I worry about you, you and your frowns, your unhappiness, your pained smiles, your worries. So what if there are people destroying each other in some part of this world?
All i know is that you're here, hurting for the wrong reasons, saddened by the way you're living. Annoyed by something as simple as the rising sun, angered by your own reflection at five in the morning.
/
There's the sort of pain that slides past the many layers of your skin, inserts itself between your cells and travels through your blood, only to sit itself in the core of your heart, like a waiting worm in an apple. it doesn't hurt until the first nibble from within, then the slow gnawing towards the shell of your heart, a poison that you cannot rid of, a poison that oozes out of every pore and overflows when-
Junhyung steps into the bath tub, his toes making light ripples in the warm water and he pushes himself under the surface almost immediately, sucking in as much water as possible. His knuckles whiten as his grip on the bath tub tightens, and the waters rush into his ears; he drowns in his own thoughts as he submerges himself further, splashing away the war, the soldiers, the bleeding people and Doojoon's frown.
He's just one breath away from death, but suddenly there is a loud bang from outside the bathroom, and before darkness can swallow him whole, Junhyung feels his sinking body lifting instead, the tip of his nose slicing through the surface of the water and he gasps when warm air hits him, head spinning as his mouth and lungs work to chase oxygen. Through reddening eyes, Junhyung sees the blur of Doojoon's face, twisted with rage and worry.
His lips are a pale purple when Doojoon half-drags him out of the bath tub and wraps a towel around his shivering form. Junhyung leans against Doojoon's shoulder and ghosts shriveled fingers along the other's jawline.
Why do you always have to ruin things for me? He traces invisible words across Doojoon's collar bone because his mouth is too tired to move and form the syllables in his mind.
Doojoon's eyes are red too as he presses his warm lips to Junhyung's forehead. He doesn't say anything, hasn't said anything since the moment he pulled Junhyung out of the water, because words are useless sometimes. His tightening arm around Junhyung says, don't leave me.
But he forgets that Junhyung is stubborn, persistent, and prepared most of the time, so when the boy stares up at him through the curtain of his wet fringe, Doojoon pulls away slightly to return the look; and he gives Junhyung the chance to scramble to his feet and snatch the ready knife from its hiding place behind the cupboards.
Doojoon sits frozen against the wall, looking up at Junhyung with fear flashing in his eyes. The knife smiles over Junhyung's tattooed arm. I need this, I need this, he tells himself as the edge of the knife presses against his skin.
Doojoon says, "Junhyung, don't do this, please," and he's choking on his own words.
I have to do this, I don't want to be here anymore.
Junhyung closes his eyes and waits for the cut, and the flood of red that would come soon. His fingers are slippery, and something is pulling him back, the muscles of his arm tensing up as the knife stays in its position on his cold skin.
(The knife says, do you trust me? And Doojoon says, do you trust me?)
"Please," Doojoon breathes. "Don't do this." His cries are tear-soaked and bleeding hurt (who's bleeding, you or me).
Junhyung exhales slowly and a sob escapes past the quivering edges of his lips. He throws the knife into the sink and slaps his hands over his mouth when Doojoon's warmth curls around him.
I can't do this.
Snow white was lucky, Junhyung thinks as he watches Doojoon's tired eyes blink at him through the veil of darkness that wraps around them. At least she was poisoned once.
If death was that easy, I wouldn't be here right now.
/
I have nothing against life, Junhyung tells Doojoon one evening. They're sitting across each other at the tiny square of their dining table, staring at each other with loose jaws, fingers circling cutlery, waiting. The ground shakes and Doojoon's half-eaten steak slides off his plate. Somewhere out there, reporters are rushing to a collapsed building, watching it exhale one last time in a breath of dust and fire.
It's just that death sounds more amazing to me right now.
/
Doojoon is waiting for the taste of blood to crawl away from his tongue.
He didn't expect the skin of Junhyung's lip to be that thin, that easily broken by the sudden pierce of Doojoon's impatient teeth. The other boy hisses and throws his head back in pleasure, threads of red saliva tearing themselves away from Doojoon's mouth.
At least he knows what Junhyung tastes like now, a mix of iron, salt and wine, nothing sweet, but that's the way he's supposed to be.
So Doojoon thrusts his tongue past the cage of Junhyung's teeth, runs his hands through Junhyung's aching scalp.
/
He wears coffee stains on his smiling teeth, runs a tongue over slanted canines, saliva-shine confidence that hurts Junhyung's eyes. The moment his thumb painted longing and too many unspoken emotions over Junhyung's sunken cheek was the moment Junhyung realized that Doojoon would be a drug, all sugar words and chocolate eyes that promised midnight kisses, morning sex and afterhurt.
Assumptions didn't get Junhyung far enough, because when Doojoon whispers love into his thigh one morning, he stares blankly at the ceiling and wonders why the waves of pleasure aren't rolling, crashing into him yet.
Doojoon reaches for Junhyung's face and says, "I love you."
When the air grows heavier with the weight of unshed tears, he presses a kiss against the other's stomach. "I hope this gives you a reason to live now."
/
Before he attempts to slice himself or escape oxygen to seek carbon monoxide instead, Junhyung asks himself, which hurts more, the war or Doojoon's fading smile?
He shakes his head to clear his mind and the answer is obvious.
/
GOVERNMENT EVACUATION SCHEME
TO RESIDENTS RESIDING WITHIN THE EVACUABLE AREA OF SEOUL CITY.
Under the above scheme the Government will be responsible for the reception of a number of persons from the evacuation areas.
If the Householder has made arrangements for the reception of Relatives/Friends, their names and addresses should be submitted to the Head Officer (see below for address and name).
The Government may also find it necessary to take over any vacant properties and properties vacated but left furnished.
We are paper people. Doojoon tears the letter into crooked strips of white, and throws it away.
But we're joined by the hand, and if you should burn, I'll die too.
/
He stares out the window and sees soldiers marching towards death with rifles tucked under their arms, he feels as if he's still watching television, still reading the news. His window is the TV screen and he is safe in his house.
They hear crimson cries in the distance.
They're in love. Fuck the war.
- thomas pynchon, gravity's rainbow
i hope someone gets the title... this time it's relevant /sobs
twojun (doojoon/junhyung), pg-13, goosebump-inducing unbeta'd
i'm getting rusty :(((( result of my depression lmao
it's either kill yourself first, or wait for death.
Yesterday's child stares into today's looking glass and wonders if this is how life should be- waking up to the sun's scalding touch, leaning over a sink smudged with dried toothpaste and shaving cream, waxing philosophical with a toothbrush jammed in one's mouth, life should be perfect.
Every day is a carbon copy of the previous day, and Junhyung is pretty sure that the days to come will be filled with
washing grooming eating walking working listening
shouting drinking fucking vomiting leaving dying.
Of course, he almost forgot about the war but the sea of static flowing from the radio is a good reminder of the situation outside.
This city is a steel skeleton, waiting to be buried under sand and blood.
The weather is partly cloudy with a chance of missiles today, and the newspapers bleed wars, violence, protests, assassinations in indifferent, black ink that sometimes speak of self-fulfilling prophecies. Junhyung doesn't even bother flipping through the papers because he knows what's printed in there and he watches the news on tv anyway, so he just sits on the floor, thinking.
"Hit me with your train of thoughts?"
Doojoon emerges from the bathroom, his lower torso wrapped in a thin blue towel. He jerks his wet chin in Junhyung's direction, expecting to hear a response.
Does that mean you want to die too? But of course, he shoves the words under his tongue. Besides, he's too busy watching droplets of water slide from the curve of Doojoon's neck to the edges of his collar bones.
/
He stares at the creases on Doojoon's forehead and stretches his fingers across the skin. If only he could erase those lines.
Do you honestly worry about such things? He remembers asking when they were sitting together, flipping through tv channels with their legs in a comfortable tangle. Every channel was painful to look at, flashes of too much red and powdered bones and meat hanging from tree branches (trees going, look at me, I'm now bone and flesh, I'm alive, I'm wearing a human suit) when a bomb decided to end itself and everyone else in a certain part of the city. Young men carving hate and distrust into each other's veins, young women tearing each other apart like wolves dressed as Little Red Riding Hoods. Politicians pointing fingers at each other, chopping off each other's fingers.
And Doojoon turned the volume down, silencing distant screams. He whispered,
I worry more about you.
I don't worry about teenagers stabbing each other out there or children playing with guns, I worry about you, you and your frowns, your unhappiness, your pained smiles, your worries. So what if there are people destroying each other in some part of this world?
All i know is that you're here, hurting for the wrong reasons, saddened by the way you're living. Annoyed by something as simple as the rising sun, angered by your own reflection at five in the morning.
/
There's the sort of pain that slides past the many layers of your skin, inserts itself between your cells and travels through your blood, only to sit itself in the core of your heart, like a waiting worm in an apple. it doesn't hurt until the first nibble from within, then the slow gnawing towards the shell of your heart, a poison that you cannot rid of, a poison that oozes out of every pore and overflows when-
Junhyung steps into the bath tub, his toes making light ripples in the warm water and he pushes himself under the surface almost immediately, sucking in as much water as possible. His knuckles whiten as his grip on the bath tub tightens, and the waters rush into his ears; he drowns in his own thoughts as he submerges himself further, splashing away the war, the soldiers, the bleeding people and Doojoon's frown.
He's just one breath away from death, but suddenly there is a loud bang from outside the bathroom, and before darkness can swallow him whole, Junhyung feels his sinking body lifting instead, the tip of his nose slicing through the surface of the water and he gasps when warm air hits him, head spinning as his mouth and lungs work to chase oxygen. Through reddening eyes, Junhyung sees the blur of Doojoon's face, twisted with rage and worry.
His lips are a pale purple when Doojoon half-drags him out of the bath tub and wraps a towel around his shivering form. Junhyung leans against Doojoon's shoulder and ghosts shriveled fingers along the other's jawline.
Why do you always have to ruin things for me? He traces invisible words across Doojoon's collar bone because his mouth is too tired to move and form the syllables in his mind.
Doojoon's eyes are red too as he presses his warm lips to Junhyung's forehead. He doesn't say anything, hasn't said anything since the moment he pulled Junhyung out of the water, because words are useless sometimes. His tightening arm around Junhyung says, don't leave me.
But he forgets that Junhyung is stubborn, persistent, and prepared most of the time, so when the boy stares up at him through the curtain of his wet fringe, Doojoon pulls away slightly to return the look; and he gives Junhyung the chance to scramble to his feet and snatch the ready knife from its hiding place behind the cupboards.
Doojoon sits frozen against the wall, looking up at Junhyung with fear flashing in his eyes. The knife smiles over Junhyung's tattooed arm. I need this, I need this, he tells himself as the edge of the knife presses against his skin.
Doojoon says, "Junhyung, don't do this, please," and he's choking on his own words.
I have to do this, I don't want to be here anymore.
Junhyung closes his eyes and waits for the cut, and the flood of red that would come soon. His fingers are slippery, and something is pulling him back, the muscles of his arm tensing up as the knife stays in its position on his cold skin.
(The knife says, do you trust me? And Doojoon says, do you trust me?)
"Please," Doojoon breathes. "Don't do this." His cries are tear-soaked and bleeding hurt (who's bleeding, you or me).
Junhyung exhales slowly and a sob escapes past the quivering edges of his lips. He throws the knife into the sink and slaps his hands over his mouth when Doojoon's warmth curls around him.
I can't do this.
Snow white was lucky, Junhyung thinks as he watches Doojoon's tired eyes blink at him through the veil of darkness that wraps around them. At least she was poisoned once.
If death was that easy, I wouldn't be here right now.
/
I have nothing against life, Junhyung tells Doojoon one evening. They're sitting across each other at the tiny square of their dining table, staring at each other with loose jaws, fingers circling cutlery, waiting. The ground shakes and Doojoon's half-eaten steak slides off his plate. Somewhere out there, reporters are rushing to a collapsed building, watching it exhale one last time in a breath of dust and fire.
It's just that death sounds more amazing to me right now.
/
Doojoon is waiting for the taste of blood to crawl away from his tongue.
He didn't expect the skin of Junhyung's lip to be that thin, that easily broken by the sudden pierce of Doojoon's impatient teeth. The other boy hisses and throws his head back in pleasure, threads of red saliva tearing themselves away from Doojoon's mouth.
At least he knows what Junhyung tastes like now, a mix of iron, salt and wine, nothing sweet, but that's the way he's supposed to be.
So Doojoon thrusts his tongue past the cage of Junhyung's teeth, runs his hands through Junhyung's aching scalp.
/
He wears coffee stains on his smiling teeth, runs a tongue over slanted canines, saliva-shine confidence that hurts Junhyung's eyes. The moment his thumb painted longing and too many unspoken emotions over Junhyung's sunken cheek was the moment Junhyung realized that Doojoon would be a drug, all sugar words and chocolate eyes that promised midnight kisses, morning sex and afterhurt.
Assumptions didn't get Junhyung far enough, because when Doojoon whispers love into his thigh one morning, he stares blankly at the ceiling and wonders why the waves of pleasure aren't rolling, crashing into him yet.
Doojoon reaches for Junhyung's face and says, "I love you."
When the air grows heavier with the weight of unshed tears, he presses a kiss against the other's stomach. "I hope this gives you a reason to live now."
/
Before he attempts to slice himself or escape oxygen to seek carbon monoxide instead, Junhyung asks himself, which hurts more, the war or Doojoon's fading smile?
He shakes his head to clear his mind and the answer is obvious.
/
GOVERNMENT EVACUATION SCHEME
TO RESIDENTS RESIDING WITHIN THE EVACUABLE AREA OF SEOUL CITY.
Under the above scheme the Government will be responsible for the reception of a number of persons from the evacuation areas.
If the Householder has made arrangements for the reception of Relatives/Friends, their names and addresses should be submitted to the Head Officer (see below for address and name).
The Government may also find it necessary to take over any vacant properties and properties vacated but left furnished.
We are paper people. Doojoon tears the letter into crooked strips of white, and throws it away.
But we're joined by the hand, and if you should burn, I'll die too.
/
He stares out the window and sees soldiers marching towards death with rifles tucked under their arms, he feels as if he's still watching television, still reading the news. His window is the TV screen and he is safe in his house.
They hear crimson cries in the distance.
They're in love. Fuck the war.
- thomas pynchon, gravity's rainbow
i hope someone gets the title... this time it's relevant /sobs