Rain
A/N: Something dark inspired by... my muse of darkness. There is no explicit death or pairing here, but I wrote this with broken!kihae, eunhae in mind. Enjoy
You’re sitting there, in the distance, hunched over as if you have something to hide. If I could see your face I’m sure I would see your eyes scanning the surrounding area frantically, as if to seek an escape. I’ve grown accustomed to it, because you do it every time. You come every time at 7 sharp, and sit on that dry patch of grass, looking as if you’re waiting for something but you don’t know what. I don’t know who you are, but then suddenly I do.
You straighten and turn around slowly, twisting yourself until your body faces me. Dark denim jeans rub against the damp, muddy grass, soiling the expensive material that cost you hours of hard work.
You look up suddenly and don’t seem to be surprised that I’m still looking at you. This happens every time too and yet, it never fails to make me feel bare and vulnerable to your gaze, like you’re looking into my eyes and seeing into my soul. I see the corners of your mouth turn upward slightly, as I try not to flinch under your stare. Your eyes soften, as if they’re trying to tell me something, as if they’re saying that don’t worry, everything is okay. you’re okay or I accept you for who you are.We continue to look at each other, seeing but not judging, knowing but still learning. It’s like we’re on opposite sides of a mirror- we’re reflections of each other, parts of a whole that can’t be complete without the other. We fall deeper and deeper into the abyss, until we no longer see anything around us. The trees howling in the wind, the full moon peeking out through a blanket of dark, gray clouds, the pitter-patter of the rain, none of it seems to exist. I see you, and you see me. That’s all that matters.
Except then, it doesn’t.
Then, he comes. He is confident in the steps he takes in your direction, knowing that he has no reason to be anything but. And then, I remember. I remember that you don’t see me, that you can’t see me looking back at you and that you probably won’t even remember what I look like. And yet, you come here regularly, on the second Sunday of every month. You’re the first person that I’ve ever hated almost as much as I love. I look at you smile at him and I feel myself sigh. I don’t know what it is that I want- do I want to be the cause of your smile? Or do I want to erase it so that you no longer feel anything but the cold emptiness that I do? How quickly you seem to have forgotten all your promises, those stupid vows that I took in all seriousness while it turns out that they meant absolutely nothing to you. How easy it seems for you to have moved on, to be able to look at someone else the way you looked at me.
I guess it’s my fault anyway, for getting carried away. I know who you are, know who your heart belongs to now. I can see it in your eyes every time he comes to take you away from me, the way you smile when he holds you close, gathering you in his arms and holding you close to his heart. He’s furious with me, I know. He hates having to share you, having to be second to someone like me. And yet, he waits for you. He looks out for you, wipes your imminent tears away with soft, careful strokes. He listens every time when you tell him to wait for half an hour before coming to get you. He really loves you, I can tell. It’s so obvious in the way that he comes to see me regularly too just so you’re not alone. Me, the man he has despised for as long as we have both known each other. The way he shows up right as the 30 minutes have elapsed, like he can’t bear to leave you in my presence for any longer than you have deemed necessary. The way he refuses to look at me, but doesn’t stop you from doing so. Even in the way he silently ushers you away, providing you the comfort you crave, not the despair that seems to be the only thing I can give you. These actions all show me that he is good for you, that he will love you like I love you. That he will take away your sorrows and look after you like I meant to. I know all of this. And even though I can say that I hate him and I don’t need him, I know that you love and do need him. And that is enough for me. It has to be.
You both walk out together, leaving me dying to see you when you come back. Only, how can that be when I was already dead to begin with?
A/N: This was so weird for me to write. Still not sure if posting it was the best idea but...what'd you guys think?
You’re sitting there, in the distance, hunched over as if you have something to hide. If I could see your face I’m sure I would see your eyes scanning the surrounding area frantically, as if to seek an escape. I’ve grown accustomed to it, because you do it every time. You come every time at 7 sharp, and sit on that dry patch of grass, looking as if you’re waiting for something but you don’t know what. I don’t know who you are, but then suddenly I do.
You straighten and turn around slowly, twisting yourself until your body faces me. Dark denim jeans rub against the damp, muddy grass, soiling the expensive material that cost you hours of hard work.
You look up suddenly and don’t seem to be surprised that I’m still looking at you. This happens every time too and yet, it never fails to make me feel bare and vulnerable to your gaze, like you’re looking into my eyes and seeing into my soul. I see the corners of your mouth turn upward slightly, as I try not to flinch under your stare. Your eyes soften, as if they’re trying to tell me something, as if they’re saying that don’t worry, everything is okay. you’re okay or I accept you for who you are.We continue to look at each other, seeing but not judging, knowing but still learning. It’s like we’re on opposite sides of a mirror- we’re reflections of each other, parts of a whole that can’t be complete without the other. We fall deeper and deeper into the abyss, until we no longer see anything around us. The trees howling in the wind, the full moon peeking out through a blanket of dark, gray clouds, the pitter-patter of the rain, none of it seems to exist. I see you, and you see me. That’s all that matters.
Except then, it doesn’t.
Then, he comes. He is confident in the steps he takes in your direction, knowing that he has no reason to be anything but. And then, I remember. I remember that you don’t see me, that you can’t see me looking back at you and that you probably won’t even remember what I look like. And yet, you come here regularly, on the second Sunday of every month. You’re the first person that I’ve ever hated almost as much as I love. I look at you smile at him and I feel myself sigh. I don’t know what it is that I want- do I want to be the cause of your smile? Or do I want to erase it so that you no longer feel anything but the cold emptiness that I do? How quickly you seem to have forgotten all your promises, those stupid vows that I took in all seriousness while it turns out that they meant absolutely nothing to you. How easy it seems for you to have moved on, to be able to look at someone else the way you looked at me.
I guess it’s my fault anyway, for getting carried away. I know who you are, know who your heart belongs to now. I can see it in your eyes every time he comes to take you away from me, the way you smile when he holds you close, gathering you in his arms and holding you close to his heart. He’s furious with me, I know. He hates having to share you, having to be second to someone like me. And yet, he waits for you. He looks out for you, wipes your imminent tears away with soft, careful strokes. He listens every time when you tell him to wait for half an hour before coming to get you. He really loves you, I can tell. It’s so obvious in the way that he comes to see me regularly too just so you’re not alone. Me, the man he has despised for as long as we have both known each other. The way he shows up right as the 30 minutes have elapsed, like he can’t bear to leave you in my presence for any longer than you have deemed necessary. The way he refuses to look at me, but doesn’t stop you from doing so. Even in the way he silently ushers you away, providing you the comfort you crave, not the despair that seems to be the only thing I can give you. These actions all show me that he is good for you, that he will love you like I love you. That he will take away your sorrows and look after you like I meant to. I know all of this. And even though I can say that I hate him and I don’t need him, I know that you love and do need him. And that is enough for me. It has to be.
You both walk out together, leaving me dying to see you when you come back. Only, how can that be when I was already dead to begin with?
A/N: This was so weird for me to write. Still not sure if posting it was the best idea but...what'd you guys think?