three drabbles
three drabbles
colours (of you)
jaeseop/kiseop
g
au
a/n: originally written for beefballs on ask.fm, prompt: colours
jaeseop sees the world in colours. anger and passion in bright, fiery red. calmness and relaxation in soothing emerald green. sadness and melancholy in varying tones of blue. there is no black or white in his world, but shades of gray and every other colour in the spectrum.
but kiseop - kiseop is a blank, an empty canvas to be imprinted on with the ways of the world. kiseop is a blank, and that is what draws jaeseop to him, what intrigues jaeseop most about him.
and so jaeseop takes him in, splashes him with liquid jewel tones and paints him over with watercolours so that he's now covered in a rainbow of emotions.
pins kiseop up in his easel and slowly fills him in with careful strokes of redorangeyellowgreenblue, watching as the once expressionless face now comes alive with wide smiles and indignant pouts. a medley of colours, fusing together to form the closest thing to the perfect human being, or so jaeseop likes to think.
they fall in love during fall, when autumn leaves drift down from trees like dying butterflies in warm tones of gold and red, and the air is tinged with the blue-white chill of early winter. jaeseop picks up his brush and paints kiseop blush pink, on the area just over his heart (that perfect shade of pink for sweetness and first loves, he likes to say.)
and so they love, in varying shades of passionate crimson and romantic fuchsia, with splatters of dark gray anger and bittersweet turqoise forgiveness along the way.
jaeseop sees the world in colours. brilliant, loud colours that are a little too blinding, a little too chaotic at times. but that's okay, he thinks, because he's got kiseop as a companion in this dizzying technicolour world, braving the brightness and loudness together with him.
(im)perfections
jongin/sehun
pg
angst
warning: self-harm
a/n: originally written as a 2seop drabble on ask.fm
scars are memories in physical form; dark red over pink over faded brown, laid out in stripes over otherwise flawless skin. criss-crossed webs twining up wrists and curling around thighs and abdomen, vines of blood and torn skin.
but sehun doesn't want flawlessness. he doesn't want perfection. what he wants - is to remember. to remind himself that there will always be an end, that perfection is nothing more than a flawed, deadly concept; a mere ten-letter word that sneaks its way into lives and minds to wreak havoc.
so he carves memories into his skin, blade splitting flesh and coaxing liquid rubies from their hiding place beneath his skin. one cut for each mistake, one cut for each failure. some people keep journals to record down daily happenings, but sehun is his own living diary, carrying journal entries embedded deep into his skin (and heart).
jongin thinks it's an art. crimson over silver over beige, intricate patterns in a grotesquely beautiful masterpiece. he runs his fingertips over streaks of raised roughness, maps out the timeline of stories on sehun's skin.
here, is the time when the class jocks threw out the contents of sehun's locker and filled it with crumpled newspaper. here, is the time when sehun missed a beat in the music and ended up crashing into the dancer next to him in a stage performance. here, here and here are the times when sehun sat alone in the school cafeteria, back hunched and bangs covering his eyes, with his schoolmates' mocking stares and cruel laughter all around him.
he traces a new scar into the patch of skin over sehun's heart. flesh parts beneath gleaming silver, liquid crimson welling out hot and bright along the cut. presses a kiss to the younger man's adam's apple as he digs the blade deeper into his chest, so that sehun's breathing grows ragged and heavy beneath his palm. (despondency is contagious.)
here, is the time that they fell in love.
fizzle
junmyeon/jongin
pg-13
angst
a/n: originally written for a request on ask.fm; prompt: coca cola
"do you know that the police use coca cola to clean bloodstains off roads after an accident?" junmyeon tells jongin one day, when it's just the two of them up on the roof of the company building. two figures pressed close together, taking turns to smoke from the same cigarette.
it sounds like something chanyeol would say, what with his current trivia book obsession and scary ability to memorise tens of facts in one seating. jongin shakes his head, leaning down to take a long drag from the poison stick clinched between slender fingers. "how does that even work out?"
"mm," junmyeon has a thoughtful look glazing over his eyes, brows furrowed slightly as he considers the question. "i think it has something to do with the level of acidity in it. eats away at the stains and corrodes them so that they're easier to clean off. scary, huh?" he doesn't wait for a reply, reaching over to take the cigarette from jongin and inhaling deeply.
"don't you have singing lessons later?" jongin leans back against the cement parapet to observe the way the older man sucks in a lungful of gaseous poison and cloudy addiction, savouring the comforting bitterness in his mouth.
"just this once." junmyeon answers, eyes slightly watery as he hides a cough with the back of his hand.
jongin laughs at the irony of it all, throwing an arm around junmyeon and leaning in closer so that cheek is pressed to jowl and the smouldering end of the cigarette singes into bronzed skin. when they finally pull away, the small blister left behind on jongin's cheekbone stings sharply, and he wonders how he's going to explain it if anyone sees. junmyeon only laughs at his grumbling and angles his head slightly to press a gentle kiss onto the inflamed skin.
the cigarette is passed back and forth between tobacco-stained fingers, until it is almost burnt through and the air is thick with its heady, dizzying scent. gray wisps circle their heads like ghostly halos, but they are not angels. just a long-time trainee and the company's golden child, two friends taking a quick smoke break before returning back to long hours in a living hell.
the next time they share a smoke on the company building's rooftop, just the two of them with poison clouds and the setting sun for company, they are not just friends anymore. they are what junmyeon would term as "very-good-friends", even though jongin disagrees because very-good-friends don't fuck each other in cramped company toilets, do they? very-good-friends don't share quick kisses in between practice sessions, very-good-friends don't link hands beneath shared blankets on a shared bed, very-good-friends don't wake each other up with lips and fingers tracing patterns over bare shoulders in the mornings.
they are more than very-good-friends, and jongin wonders why junmyeon is so adamant with denying that very fact.
he finds out the answer much later of course, two weeks after they've been called into a meeting room with four other boys to be told that they would be debuting as a group in about a year's time. junmyeon breaks it to him over a marlboro and cans of soda, says that "maybe we should go back to being just friends."
jongin only stares up at him, eyes wide and noticing how junmyeon won't meet his gaze over the orange glow of the cigarette. "hyung?"
"we should stop all this. the - the touching, the kissing. the sex." junmyeon's voice is shaky, and he grips the cigarette so tight his knuckles whiten. "we should be just friends. yeah."
"why." it's the only thing jongin can force out, because he doesn't want to sound like a clingy, immature teenager; he really doesn't. but what about all the times when junmyeon had curled an arm around him and whispered i love yous and promises of a shared future? what about the time when, when -
"we're debuting soon, jongin-ah." the words are spoken with forced patience, false calmness, but come out sounding mechanical and harsh instead. junmyeon still doesn't meet his eyes.
"that's never stopped us before!"
"this is different!" jongin has never heard junmyeon raise his voice. never. the older man's eyes soften at the hurt displayed on jongin's features, seemingly regaining control of his temper as he turns away once more. "our debut has already been confirmed. we're going to be living with four others, everyday, for the next five years until we disband. maybe even more. they might - they will find out." a pause as junmyeon takes a drag from the cigarette. "society doesn't accept people like us, jongin-ah. society never likes those who are different, those whose actions they cannot understand."
"but i love you!" the words slip from jongin's mouth with a rush of shaky breaths and escaped tears. he steps forward, places his hand on junmyeon's shoulder. "hyung, i love you."
junmyeon's eyes are watery when he gently pushes jongin's hand off, as they always are when he smokes, only this time jongin isn't sure if the moisture caught at the corners of his eyes is from the cigarette or from tears. "love doesn't exist between two people of the same gender."
that evening, junmyeon leaves jongin with soda-stained hands and tear-stained cheeks; stale tendrils of smoke weaving themselves into his hair and the dying embers of their shared cigarette glowing faintly in his palm.
three nights later, jongin closes his eyes and chokes back sobs as he washes off the last traces of junmyeon's love from his hands with coca cola (hopes for the acid to eat away and corrode whatever that is left so that he has nothing more to reminisce over); watches while his own heart sinks down to fizzle away and die out at the bottom of the red and white soda can.
colours (of you)
jaeseop/kiseop
g
au
a/n: originally written for beefballs on ask.fm, prompt: colours
jaeseop sees the world in colours. anger and passion in bright, fiery red. calmness and relaxation in soothing emerald green. sadness and melancholy in varying tones of blue. there is no black or white in his world, but shades of gray and every other colour in the spectrum.
but kiseop - kiseop is a blank, an empty canvas to be imprinted on with the ways of the world. kiseop is a blank, and that is what draws jaeseop to him, what intrigues jaeseop most about him.
and so jaeseop takes him in, splashes him with liquid jewel tones and paints him over with watercolours so that he's now covered in a rainbow of emotions.
pins kiseop up in his easel and slowly fills him in with careful strokes of redorangeyellowgreenblue, watching as the once expressionless face now comes alive with wide smiles and indignant pouts. a medley of colours, fusing together to form the closest thing to the perfect human being, or so jaeseop likes to think.
they fall in love during fall, when autumn leaves drift down from trees like dying butterflies in warm tones of gold and red, and the air is tinged with the blue-white chill of early winter. jaeseop picks up his brush and paints kiseop blush pink, on the area just over his heart (that perfect shade of pink for sweetness and first loves, he likes to say.)
and so they love, in varying shades of passionate crimson and romantic fuchsia, with splatters of dark gray anger and bittersweet turqoise forgiveness along the way.
jaeseop sees the world in colours. brilliant, loud colours that are a little too blinding, a little too chaotic at times. but that's okay, he thinks, because he's got kiseop as a companion in this dizzying technicolour world, braving the brightness and loudness together with him.
(im)perfections
jongin/sehun
pg
angst
warning: self-harm
a/n: originally written as a 2seop drabble on ask.fm
scars are memories in physical form; dark red over pink over faded brown, laid out in stripes over otherwise flawless skin. criss-crossed webs twining up wrists and curling around thighs and abdomen, vines of blood and torn skin.
but sehun doesn't want flawlessness. he doesn't want perfection. what he wants - is to remember. to remind himself that there will always be an end, that perfection is nothing more than a flawed, deadly concept; a mere ten-letter word that sneaks its way into lives and minds to wreak havoc.
so he carves memories into his skin, blade splitting flesh and coaxing liquid rubies from their hiding place beneath his skin. one cut for each mistake, one cut for each failure. some people keep journals to record down daily happenings, but sehun is his own living diary, carrying journal entries embedded deep into his skin (and heart).
jongin thinks it's an art. crimson over silver over beige, intricate patterns in a grotesquely beautiful masterpiece. he runs his fingertips over streaks of raised roughness, maps out the timeline of stories on sehun's skin.
here, is the time when the class jocks threw out the contents of sehun's locker and filled it with crumpled newspaper. here, is the time when sehun missed a beat in the music and ended up crashing into the dancer next to him in a stage performance. here, here and here are the times when sehun sat alone in the school cafeteria, back hunched and bangs covering his eyes, with his schoolmates' mocking stares and cruel laughter all around him.
he traces a new scar into the patch of skin over sehun's heart. flesh parts beneath gleaming silver, liquid crimson welling out hot and bright along the cut. presses a kiss to the younger man's adam's apple as he digs the blade deeper into his chest, so that sehun's breathing grows ragged and heavy beneath his palm. (despondency is contagious.)
here, is the time that they fell in love.
fizzle
junmyeon/jongin
pg-13
angst
a/n: originally written for a request on ask.fm; prompt: coca cola
"do you know that the police use coca cola to clean bloodstains off roads after an accident?" junmyeon tells jongin one day, when it's just the two of them up on the roof of the company building. two figures pressed close together, taking turns to smoke from the same cigarette.
it sounds like something chanyeol would say, what with his current trivia book obsession and scary ability to memorise tens of facts in one seating. jongin shakes his head, leaning down to take a long drag from the poison stick clinched between slender fingers. "how does that even work out?"
"mm," junmyeon has a thoughtful look glazing over his eyes, brows furrowed slightly as he considers the question. "i think it has something to do with the level of acidity in it. eats away at the stains and corrodes them so that they're easier to clean off. scary, huh?" he doesn't wait for a reply, reaching over to take the cigarette from jongin and inhaling deeply.
"don't you have singing lessons later?" jongin leans back against the cement parapet to observe the way the older man sucks in a lungful of gaseous poison and cloudy addiction, savouring the comforting bitterness in his mouth.
"just this once." junmyeon answers, eyes slightly watery as he hides a cough with the back of his hand.
jongin laughs at the irony of it all, throwing an arm around junmyeon and leaning in closer so that cheek is pressed to jowl and the smouldering end of the cigarette singes into bronzed skin. when they finally pull away, the small blister left behind on jongin's cheekbone stings sharply, and he wonders how he's going to explain it if anyone sees. junmyeon only laughs at his grumbling and angles his head slightly to press a gentle kiss onto the inflamed skin.
the cigarette is passed back and forth between tobacco-stained fingers, until it is almost burnt through and the air is thick with its heady, dizzying scent. gray wisps circle their heads like ghostly halos, but they are not angels. just a long-time trainee and the company's golden child, two friends taking a quick smoke break before returning back to long hours in a living hell.
the next time they share a smoke on the company building's rooftop, just the two of them with poison clouds and the setting sun for company, they are not just friends anymore. they are what junmyeon would term as "very-good-friends", even though jongin disagrees because very-good-friends don't fuck each other in cramped company toilets, do they? very-good-friends don't share quick kisses in between practice sessions, very-good-friends don't link hands beneath shared blankets on a shared bed, very-good-friends don't wake each other up with lips and fingers tracing patterns over bare shoulders in the mornings.
they are more than very-good-friends, and jongin wonders why junmyeon is so adamant with denying that very fact.
he finds out the answer much later of course, two weeks after they've been called into a meeting room with four other boys to be told that they would be debuting as a group in about a year's time. junmyeon breaks it to him over a marlboro and cans of soda, says that "maybe we should go back to being just friends."
jongin only stares up at him, eyes wide and noticing how junmyeon won't meet his gaze over the orange glow of the cigarette. "hyung?"
"we should stop all this. the - the touching, the kissing. the sex." junmyeon's voice is shaky, and he grips the cigarette so tight his knuckles whiten. "we should be just friends. yeah."
"why." it's the only thing jongin can force out, because he doesn't want to sound like a clingy, immature teenager; he really doesn't. but what about all the times when junmyeon had curled an arm around him and whispered i love yous and promises of a shared future? what about the time when, when -
"we're debuting soon, jongin-ah." the words are spoken with forced patience, false calmness, but come out sounding mechanical and harsh instead. junmyeon still doesn't meet his eyes.
"that's never stopped us before!"
"this is different!" jongin has never heard junmyeon raise his voice. never. the older man's eyes soften at the hurt displayed on jongin's features, seemingly regaining control of his temper as he turns away once more. "our debut has already been confirmed. we're going to be living with four others, everyday, for the next five years until we disband. maybe even more. they might - they will find out." a pause as junmyeon takes a drag from the cigarette. "society doesn't accept people like us, jongin-ah. society never likes those who are different, those whose actions they cannot understand."
"but i love you!" the words slip from jongin's mouth with a rush of shaky breaths and escaped tears. he steps forward, places his hand on junmyeon's shoulder. "hyung, i love you."
junmyeon's eyes are watery when he gently pushes jongin's hand off, as they always are when he smokes, only this time jongin isn't sure if the moisture caught at the corners of his eyes is from the cigarette or from tears. "love doesn't exist between two people of the same gender."
that evening, junmyeon leaves jongin with soda-stained hands and tear-stained cheeks; stale tendrils of smoke weaving themselves into his hair and the dying embers of their shared cigarette glowing faintly in his palm.
three nights later, jongin closes his eyes and chokes back sobs as he washes off the last traces of junmyeon's love from his hands with coca cola (hopes for the acid to eat away and corrode whatever that is left so that he has nothing more to reminisce over); watches while his own heart sinks down to fizzle away and die out at the bottom of the red and white soda can.