THIS IS UNTITLED I WROTE IT FOR BLUU'S SPRINT WRITE SCREAM I'LL GIVE IT A TEMP TITLE.
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“We’re fucked up, but at least we’re fucked up together.” There’s that look in Zitao’s eyes again, full of adventures not yet accomplished and promises and daring words left unspoken. Ice crashes around his glass and he downs what’s left of his whiskey, tipping the bartender for a refill.
Jongin remains silent, swirling the contents of his beer and staring around warily. His cheeks are warm and his hands are cold, he’s tired and he wants to leave. He wants to hold Zitao and have him tell him it’s going to be alright, they’ll get their shit together.
But Zitao has never been a liar, always opting for the hard truth- he’s lost a lot of friends this way, Jongin often scolds him for this and Zitao just laughs, because they weren’t much of a friend in the first place if they couldn’t handle reality.
Zitao’s hand finds its way to Jongin’s thigh and he feels that for these fleeting seconds, everything is ok, that they will get their shit together. Zitao will make it alright with his kisses and caresses and Jongin will believe that this is all just an unavoidable phase.
He squeezes, a little too tight but more comforting than painful.
The smoke in the bar is heavy, lacing through Jongin’s hair and settling low by their feet. Bodies crash together, louder than the music. Jongin’s beer is warm now, and it tastes like stale piss and lots of disappointment. He tosses it aside and Zitao beckons for another, Jongin doesn’t have the heart to tell him no, that he just wants to go home and maybe they can just get fucked up there. It’s always better when it’s just the two of them, because all of Zitao’s attention is on Jongin, not the doe-eyed brunette huddled in the corner with some fruity martini held close to his chest.
Jongin opens his mouth, waits for the demand to return home to escape his lips. It doesn’t come, and the words would have been wasted regardless, Zitao has gotten up, abandoning his whiskey, to approach the man.
Jongin is jealous, because Zitao is his in a sense, they’ve gone through this entire thing together, Zitao has brought others into the mess, but they’ve left and Jongin has stayed. Not like he can leave anyway, Zitao has a pull on Jongin. Zitao is the sun and Jongin is an orbiting planet, hanging off every word and glance and touch. Clinging to promises and compliments.
Where Zitao goes, Jongin follows. The world is at a standstill, and only Jongin and Zitao are moving.
Jongin gets up as well, grabbing Zitao’s drink and catching up with the lanky male.
His name is Kyungsoo and Jongin hates him already, hates the way he looks at Zitao with awe, and the way he inhales the smoke and Zitao’s words. Jongin hates him, but he won’t say anything, instead, he stands by Zitao’s side- because this is where he belongs- with a whisky glass covered in condensation and filled with melted ice and alcohol.
Zitao ignores him, and Jongin supposes he’s used to this, because Zitao always ignores him when there’s a new prospect in sight.
It’s ok, he tells himself, in the end, Kyungsoo will leave and Jongin will be right there, tucking away those smiles just for him. He’ll never leave, and Zitao probably knows this, and that’s why he takes him for granted, like a worn ragdoll that’s constantly replaced but never thrown out.
Jongin hates Zitao, he hates him so much.
“We’re fucked up, but at least we’re fucked up together.” There’s that look in Zitao’s eyes again, full of adventures not yet accomplished and promises and daring words left unspoken. Ice crashes around his glass and he downs what’s left of his whiskey, tipping the bartender for a refill.
Jongin remains silent, swirling the contents of his beer and staring around warily. His cheeks are warm and his hands are cold, he’s tired and he wants to leave. He wants to hold Zitao and have him tell him it’s going to be alright, they’ll get their shit together.
But Zitao has never been a liar, always opting for the hard truth- he’s lost a lot of friends this way, Jongin often scolds him for this and Zitao just laughs, because they weren’t much of a friend in the first place if they couldn’t handle reality.
Zitao’s hand finds its way to Jongin’s thigh and he feels that for these fleeting seconds, everything is ok, that they will get their shit together. Zitao will make it alright with his kisses and caresses and Jongin will believe that this is all just an unavoidable phase.
He squeezes, a little too tight but more comforting than painful.
The smoke in the bar is heavy, lacing through Jongin’s hair and settling low by their feet. Bodies crash together, louder than the music. Jongin’s beer is warm now, and it tastes like stale piss and lots of disappointment. He tosses it aside and Zitao beckons for another, Jongin doesn’t have the heart to tell him no, that he just wants to go home and maybe they can just get fucked up there. It’s always better when it’s just the two of them, because all of Zitao’s attention is on Jongin, not the doe-eyed brunette huddled in the corner with some fruity martini held close to his chest.
Jongin opens his mouth, waits for the demand to return home to escape his lips. It doesn’t come, and the words would have been wasted regardless, Zitao has gotten up, abandoning his whiskey, to approach the man.
Jongin is jealous, because Zitao is his in a sense, they’ve gone through this entire thing together, Zitao has brought others into the mess, but they’ve left and Jongin has stayed. Not like he can leave anyway, Zitao has a pull on Jongin. Zitao is the sun and Jongin is an orbiting planet, hanging off every word and glance and touch. Clinging to promises and compliments.
Where Zitao goes, Jongin follows. The world is at a standstill, and only Jongin and Zitao are moving.
Jongin gets up as well, grabbing Zitao’s drink and catching up with the lanky male.
His name is Kyungsoo and Jongin hates him already, hates the way he looks at Zitao with awe, and the way he inhales the smoke and Zitao’s words. Jongin hates him, but he won’t say anything, instead, he stands by Zitao’s side- because this is where he belongs- with a whisky glass covered in condensation and filled with melted ice and alcohol.
Zitao ignores him, and Jongin supposes he’s used to this, because Zitao always ignores him when there’s a new prospect in sight.
It’s ok, he tells himself, in the end, Kyungsoo will leave and Jongin will be right there, tucking away those smiles just for him. He’ll never leave, and Zitao probably knows this, and that’s why he takes him for granted, like a worn ragdoll that’s constantly replaced but never thrown out.
Jongin hates Zitao, he hates him so much.