i erase myself from my heart
i erase myself from my heart
PG-16 (768 words) ; myungsoo/sungyeol ; blood, cutting.
beta-ed by aurelynn for shi & based of tablo's 나쁘다.
love is so bad, i guess the more you get to know about love, you only become worse.
he stares in the mirror. there are streaks of crimson, the glass is cracked and he sees a reflection of himself (more than one, two, three, four with the dents in silver). his fingers are bruised, bleeding and he reaches out for the mirror and he senses invisible tears dripping from the corners of his eyes and then touching the ground.
he hears the door open but he makes no action to move. he recognizes the sound of the footsteps but doesn’t say anything when he feels a knife on his neck. blood is a companion of his and he looks down at his fingertips and he feels comfort at the warmth that seeps from his skin.
no conversation strikes between the two males; there is only the sound of heartbeats, rising when myungsoo touches someplace he shouldn’t and sungyeol tries not to scream.
(he can’t, there are fingers pressing against his neck and it’s suffocating; the reason he's breathing is the reason he isn't breathing.)
(“you’ve changed,” woohyun says, grabbing sungyeol’s wrists and forcing the taller (yet younger) to face him.
sungyeol stares at him, as if he were an alien and shakes woohyun’s grip off and reaches out for the alcohol. he drowns the alcohol in a single gulp and woohyun shakes his head. “you’ve changed. just like kim myungsoo.”
“myungsoo used to be a good kid, filled with love but he turned cold. he used to smile, that smile that everyone would fall in love with but he no longer smiles and instead, there’s a glare of hatred and despise in his eyes. myungsoo used to be this calm, nonchalant soul but he now rages like a ticking bomb. myungsoo never swore, but he now has the vocabulary of a rainbow.” sungyeol wants woohyun to shut up, he doesn’t like what he’s saying and he stands up, glass cup crushing under the impact when he slams it against the table. “shut the fuck up, woohyun.”
his hand starts to bleed but he walks away before woohyun can speak. he misses woohyun’s words: “like the saying goes, lovers resemble each other.”)
sungyeol tries not to recall the past because remembering is atrocious and he hates to remember more than anything. he has never liked the taste of alcohol but it is numbing and sungyeol doesn’t want to feel. he lays his palm on his wrists and he feels the bump of the scars and he reaches out for the cup of wine.
he hears words of warning, concern from sunggyu, woohyun, hoya but their voices are muffled. he suddenly feels a knife on his cheek, knife crushing his cells and myungsoo has his fingers on his chin, forcing sungyeol to look at him. myungsoo’s eyes are a deep black and they speak so much, everything that sungyeol can’t put into words. “look at me.”
(he can’t, his vision is blurred by his tears; the reason why he opens his eyes in the morning is the reason why his sight is stripped away.)
sungyeol enjoys the feeling of rain hitting his bare skin and the night is young. he stumbles underneath the thick black cover and his knees buckle underneath him and he feels himself crashing into familiar arms. he sees the figure through his bangs and he faintly makes out hoya’s figure and he pulls away.
“sungyeol, you need help,” hoya whispers and sungyeol knows that tone. it’s too familiar, just like the tone woohyun had used. sungyeol stares at hoya and he clenches his hand into a fist, flying over hoya’s cheeks and sungyeol walks away after punching him once, twice, thrice.
“what am i?”
sungyeol stares at the glazed silver object and there is more blood than before. his hair is messed up and blood covers his body like a thick layer of sweat and he feels myungsoo’s feather light kisses on the back of his neck, teasing and the familiar coldness of metal on his back. he feels the cut make an incision and the warmth of myungsoo’s tongue when he licks the wound, lapping on the blood like as if it’s the most precious liquid.
myungsoo wraps his arms around sungyeol’s naked body and sungyeol thinks he can feel each and every fiber of the silk sheets he lays on and myungsoo cuts him again, on his wrist, over old scars and he whispers in his ear, biting it before he speaks. “do you want this.”
(he lies, his mind is a cloud of fakeness, of pretense, of lies; the reason why he lives is the reason why he wants to die.)
PG-16 (768 words) ; myungsoo/sungyeol ; blood, cutting.
beta-ed by aurelynn for shi & based of tablo's 나쁘다.
love is so bad, i guess the more you get to know about love, you only become worse.
he stares in the mirror. there are streaks of crimson, the glass is cracked and he sees a reflection of himself (more than one, two, three, four with the dents in silver). his fingers are bruised, bleeding and he reaches out for the mirror and he senses invisible tears dripping from the corners of his eyes and then touching the ground.
he hears the door open but he makes no action to move. he recognizes the sound of the footsteps but doesn’t say anything when he feels a knife on his neck. blood is a companion of his and he looks down at his fingertips and he feels comfort at the warmth that seeps from his skin.
no conversation strikes between the two males; there is only the sound of heartbeats, rising when myungsoo touches someplace he shouldn’t and sungyeol tries not to scream.
(he can’t, there are fingers pressing against his neck and it’s suffocating; the reason he's breathing is the reason he isn't breathing.)
(“you’ve changed,” woohyun says, grabbing sungyeol’s wrists and forcing the taller (yet younger) to face him.
sungyeol stares at him, as if he were an alien and shakes woohyun’s grip off and reaches out for the alcohol. he drowns the alcohol in a single gulp and woohyun shakes his head. “you’ve changed. just like kim myungsoo.”
“myungsoo used to be a good kid, filled with love but he turned cold. he used to smile, that smile that everyone would fall in love with but he no longer smiles and instead, there’s a glare of hatred and despise in his eyes. myungsoo used to be this calm, nonchalant soul but he now rages like a ticking bomb. myungsoo never swore, but he now has the vocabulary of a rainbow.” sungyeol wants woohyun to shut up, he doesn’t like what he’s saying and he stands up, glass cup crushing under the impact when he slams it against the table. “shut the fuck up, woohyun.”
his hand starts to bleed but he walks away before woohyun can speak. he misses woohyun’s words: “like the saying goes, lovers resemble each other.”)
sungyeol tries not to recall the past because remembering is atrocious and he hates to remember more than anything. he has never liked the taste of alcohol but it is numbing and sungyeol doesn’t want to feel. he lays his palm on his wrists and he feels the bump of the scars and he reaches out for the cup of wine.
he hears words of warning, concern from sunggyu, woohyun, hoya but their voices are muffled. he suddenly feels a knife on his cheek, knife crushing his cells and myungsoo has his fingers on his chin, forcing sungyeol to look at him. myungsoo’s eyes are a deep black and they speak so much, everything that sungyeol can’t put into words. “look at me.”
(he can’t, his vision is blurred by his tears; the reason why he opens his eyes in the morning is the reason why his sight is stripped away.)
sungyeol enjoys the feeling of rain hitting his bare skin and the night is young. he stumbles underneath the thick black cover and his knees buckle underneath him and he feels himself crashing into familiar arms. he sees the figure through his bangs and he faintly makes out hoya’s figure and he pulls away.
“sungyeol, you need help,” hoya whispers and sungyeol knows that tone. it’s too familiar, just like the tone woohyun had used. sungyeol stares at hoya and he clenches his hand into a fist, flying over hoya’s cheeks and sungyeol walks away after punching him once, twice, thrice.
“what am i?”
sungyeol stares at the glazed silver object and there is more blood than before. his hair is messed up and blood covers his body like a thick layer of sweat and he feels myungsoo’s feather light kisses on the back of his neck, teasing and the familiar coldness of metal on his back. he feels the cut make an incision and the warmth of myungsoo’s tongue when he licks the wound, lapping on the blood like as if it’s the most precious liquid.
myungsoo wraps his arms around sungyeol’s naked body and sungyeol thinks he can feel each and every fiber of the silk sheets he lays on and myungsoo cuts him again, on his wrist, over old scars and he whispers in his ear, biting it before he speaks. “do you want this.”
(he lies, his mind is a cloud of fakeness, of pretense, of lies; the reason why he lives is the reason why he wants to die.)