You Are My Sunshine
kaisoo | angst | nc-17 | 864w
Sometimes there are no happy endings.
Kyungsoo can feel Jongin’s heavy gaze tracing the lines of his narrow shoulder. One half of his face is pressed into his pillow, the other burning from the beams of sunlight that slip through the blinds and eyes pulled closed with fatigue. Jongin’s hand is stagnant on his hip, the other lying just above his head, and Kyungsoo smiles when he leans forward to drag his nose against the back of his neck.
He’s wearing Jongin’s shirt, swathed in his scent, and it’s much too large, slipping off of his shoulder to showcase alabaster skin that gleams in the first rays of the day. Neither of their hair has been brushed, and Kyungsoo’s bangs fall across his forehead awkwardly, the wrinkles of the pillow drawing red lines in his face. Jongin tugs at him despite their debauched states, turning him around and pulling him further into his arms with the hand on his waist until his face is snug in the crook of his shoulder and neck and his short arms fit perfectly around Jongin’s torso.
The covers have gathered on Jongin’s side throughout the night. There are barely any left covering Kyungsoo’s back. He’s soaked up the cover’s warmth since then, though, only clad in boxers yet his fingertips dig heat into Kyungsoo’s flesh. Jongin’s eyes are half-lidded with sleep, cheeks dusted pink lying juxtaposed with soft brown eyes that bend around pools of midnight black pupils. Those eyes are fixated on Kyungsoo, holding him like he’s the only person in the world right now, tracing the gentle bends of his lips and the slope of his nose.
But his eyes, Jongin always tells him, are his favorite part. They crack open for Jongin, spill his soul through his tears when shaking fingers trace decrepit scars turned white; they say everything that words can’t and Jongin loves that he can see Kyungsoo so naked, especially when the morning light hits him at that certain angle where golden rays sift through black stands and light up his entire face.
With his hand running over the smooth plane of Jongin’s back, Kyungsoo thinks he should get up to make them breakfast. It would just be cereal, considering neither of them can cook that well, but they would sit in the dining room with their legs intertwined and to Kyungsoo that’s a five-star meal.
Jongin’s voice is sonorous, rough with sleep as the words tumble out of his mouth, “let’s stay like this all day, Soo,” and a gossamer web of happiness wraps itself around Kyungsoo’s collarbones and his heart beat is slow against Jongin’s.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo replies in a whispers, because it’s just them conspiring against the world and he wants Jongin to have every vowel and consonant in his mouth so not even the walls can soak them up.
This is satisfaction: the two of them tangled in each other, their roots growing around each other’s ribcages, thorns pricking love into their hearts, and flowers blooming in their eyes. This is peace, to know that he has Jongin in his arms, and that he isn’t going anywhere.
This is everything he could ever--
The alarm is shrill and finalizes the nightmare he wakes up to after the dream.
The sun still spills across half his face, the other buried in the cold half of his pillow. He can hear birds chirping outside his window, and he knows the world is still spinning, but Kyungsoo’s arms are so achingly empty and his waist so goddamn cold even with the covers pulled over him tightly.
His bones resonate with Jongin’s sigh, Jongin’s laugh, Jongin’s smile when they kissed in the rain and when they danced in the living room to Michael Jackson songs. His heart, once filled with hugs and butterflies, now echoes with the absence of a soul.
Kyungsoo wishes he could go back to sleep until Jongin was curled up beside him again, but he can never sleep again after that dream.
He can’t even close his eyes because he is plagued by the myriad of scenes of the day Jongin died, a bottle in his hand and an apology perched on the tip of his tongue. His throat aches with the notes of the only words he could find to drown out the sound of his cries as the light in Jongin’s eyes slowly diminished into darkness.
Kyungsoo opens his eyes to an empty bed, empty arms, empty heart. Tears pool in his eyes, filling his lungs until he can’t breathe, can’t do anything except wonder why the only umbrella he ever had got torn away by the wind.
(Jongin was always Kyungsoo’s only sunshine during the rain.)
The words are hollow on his tongue as he sings the same song he does every morning. His voice cracks with sadness, his fingers curling into the bedsheets where Jongin used to lay with him, the ghost of Jongin’s whisper lacing over his skin like a razorblade: sing to me, hyung.
So Kyungsoo sings.
You are my sunshine
my only sunshine
you keep me happy
when skies are grey
you’ll never know, dear
how much I love you
please don’t take
my sunshine away
Sometimes there are no happy endings.
Kyungsoo can feel Jongin’s heavy gaze tracing the lines of his narrow shoulder. One half of his face is pressed into his pillow, the other burning from the beams of sunlight that slip through the blinds and eyes pulled closed with fatigue. Jongin’s hand is stagnant on his hip, the other lying just above his head, and Kyungsoo smiles when he leans forward to drag his nose against the back of his neck.
He’s wearing Jongin’s shirt, swathed in his scent, and it’s much too large, slipping off of his shoulder to showcase alabaster skin that gleams in the first rays of the day. Neither of their hair has been brushed, and Kyungsoo’s bangs fall across his forehead awkwardly, the wrinkles of the pillow drawing red lines in his face. Jongin tugs at him despite their debauched states, turning him around and pulling him further into his arms with the hand on his waist until his face is snug in the crook of his shoulder and neck and his short arms fit perfectly around Jongin’s torso.
The covers have gathered on Jongin’s side throughout the night. There are barely any left covering Kyungsoo’s back. He’s soaked up the cover’s warmth since then, though, only clad in boxers yet his fingertips dig heat into Kyungsoo’s flesh. Jongin’s eyes are half-lidded with sleep, cheeks dusted pink lying juxtaposed with soft brown eyes that bend around pools of midnight black pupils. Those eyes are fixated on Kyungsoo, holding him like he’s the only person in the world right now, tracing the gentle bends of his lips and the slope of his nose.
But his eyes, Jongin always tells him, are his favorite part. They crack open for Jongin, spill his soul through his tears when shaking fingers trace decrepit scars turned white; they say everything that words can’t and Jongin loves that he can see Kyungsoo so naked, especially when the morning light hits him at that certain angle where golden rays sift through black stands and light up his entire face.
With his hand running over the smooth plane of Jongin’s back, Kyungsoo thinks he should get up to make them breakfast. It would just be cereal, considering neither of them can cook that well, but they would sit in the dining room with their legs intertwined and to Kyungsoo that’s a five-star meal.
Jongin’s voice is sonorous, rough with sleep as the words tumble out of his mouth, “let’s stay like this all day, Soo,” and a gossamer web of happiness wraps itself around Kyungsoo’s collarbones and his heart beat is slow against Jongin’s.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo replies in a whispers, because it’s just them conspiring against the world and he wants Jongin to have every vowel and consonant in his mouth so not even the walls can soak them up.
This is satisfaction: the two of them tangled in each other, their roots growing around each other’s ribcages, thorns pricking love into their hearts, and flowers blooming in their eyes. This is peace, to know that he has Jongin in his arms, and that he isn’t going anywhere.
This is everything he could ever--
The alarm is shrill and finalizes the nightmare he wakes up to after the dream.
The sun still spills across half his face, the other buried in the cold half of his pillow. He can hear birds chirping outside his window, and he knows the world is still spinning, but Kyungsoo’s arms are so achingly empty and his waist so goddamn cold even with the covers pulled over him tightly.
His bones resonate with Jongin’s sigh, Jongin’s laugh, Jongin’s smile when they kissed in the rain and when they danced in the living room to Michael Jackson songs. His heart, once filled with hugs and butterflies, now echoes with the absence of a soul.
Kyungsoo wishes he could go back to sleep until Jongin was curled up beside him again, but he can never sleep again after that dream.
He can’t even close his eyes because he is plagued by the myriad of scenes of the day Jongin died, a bottle in his hand and an apology perched on the tip of his tongue. His throat aches with the notes of the only words he could find to drown out the sound of his cries as the light in Jongin’s eyes slowly diminished into darkness.
Kyungsoo opens his eyes to an empty bed, empty arms, empty heart. Tears pool in his eyes, filling his lungs until he can’t breathe, can’t do anything except wonder why the only umbrella he ever had got torn away by the wind.
(Jongin was always Kyungsoo’s only sunshine during the rain.)
The words are hollow on his tongue as he sings the same song he does every morning. His voice cracks with sadness, his fingers curling into the bedsheets where Jongin used to lay with him, the ghost of Jongin’s whisper lacing over his skin like a razorblade: sing to me, hyung.
So Kyungsoo sings.
You are my sunshine
my only sunshine
you keep me happy
when skies are grey
you’ll never know, dear
how much I love you
please don’t take
my sunshine away