Deliberately
Deliberately
→ Changmin/Yoona
→ This is her story. She loves everyone and everything, that includes you. This is your story. You are only in love with her. That is the problem.
She is rather compliant of your requests. She loves you, quite dearly. She is quick to love certain things. She loves and had loved quite a number of people, have been with them, have allowed them into her personal space, have allowed them to share into a part of her life, have allowed them to take a bit of her. But not her fully.
She has never let them take the whole of her.
You are a victim of circumstance. A force not controlled by you. But if it were upon your hand at all, you wish you had not seen her. You wish the wind had not swept a feeling inside you and spurred it to burst so openly that it lay in front of her so willingly, like a nation surrendering in a war they are sure not to win, although surely there is no known victory in any battle. There is glory. But there is no victory, only loss. In war, there is no way of gaining. It only knew one way of things - losing. And any loss is still loss all and the same. Losing until the void is demanded to be made full again. But the emptiness remains. There is no repair. And you just settle for the damage inside you to feel like it isn’t. You confuse yourself that you had not gone to a battle with your own feelings and thoughts. You confuse yourself that you had not fallen so deep. You confuse yourself that you remain undamaged.
But there is so much clarity, in comparison, within her. You do not understand why and how, but it is there. She shines bright in the morning and at night. Bright, in a way, that feels as if the whole world had just been too dark before. You were perfectly fine before but now knowing what brightness is like, it’s all you ever want for the world to be. To be bright, because it’s better and nicer and prettier. And you greed for that light. Greed for it, not want it. Because you know what want feels like and want pales in comparison to what you feel for her.
You hate yourself for it, beat yourself up for it. Because she’s supposed to be bad for you. She makes you wish for impossible things. She is that impossible thing. She makes you still want that impossible thing. Want it so bad, it’s unhealthy. The feeling is unbearably settling in the pit of your stomach like heavy alcohol the first time your virgin alcoholic lips tasted gin without any tonic. It burns your lips and numbs you but you still want it because that’s the kind of alcoholic you are.
That’s the kind of person you are and those are the kind of needs that you have and will always have probably, because she will never let you have her. That’s the kind of person she is.
You are rather compliant of her requests too. You love her, quite dearly. You are more hesitant to love certain things. You have loved only one other person before her, have allowed her to take you fully, returning you whole is only possible by breaking you apart.
But you don’t blame her for the way you are now, you loved her. You can never blame her. The same way you don’t blame this one you love now.
“I’ve got a suggestion.”
She speaks with so much excitable energy, your warm curious gaze falls on her lips as she says them, tracing and catching them as they fall into the noisy rumblings of the subway engine as you two attempt at distances.
“Let’s get off here.”
She is not always as spontaneous and adventurous as she is today, pushing past people to make her way out of the cart. You meant to ask why, but it could be left for another day.
“Okay. We’re off. What do you plan on doing now?”
“Do you have your whole life all planned out? Plans are boring, you know.”
You were planning to argue your point. Plans aren’t boring. Planning is the correct way on going about things. Without it, there wouldn’t be any security. No assurance. Who would want to live in a world like that? But her feet are fast as she walks away from you.
You manage to catch her. She is spinning, her arms spread wide and her eyes shut close. You grab her hand and make her encircle her arms around your neck. You put your hands on her waist. She blinks her eyes open and smiles at you.
“You have to take risks. With each fresh step, you discover things.” She touches your nose playfully. “See, look at you, you know how to dance without music.”
You come to a sudden stop. The two of you had been swaying.
You were planning to argue your point. There is music everywhere. There is music in her voice, in her eyes, in her hair, on her skin, notes crawling and playing along. There is music even if it refuses to be heard, music that goes beyond what ears can hear. Your face twists into a smile of some sort, you were planning to argue your point, but she was right, plans are boring. Plans are ridiculous.
You spin her once, twirling her by her fingertips and embrace her from the back.
“You should see me when there is music.”
“I should.” She laughs.
There. Music. Though you have no idea if it is mocking or sincere.
It must have been quite a scene, for people to turn to an audience just by the little strange thing the two of you together have started doing. It must have made them curious, seeing two typical strangers hearing and swaying along to something they can’t hear. But you know, everyone hears the same thing, people just interpret differently.
The music they hear is dull. The music you listen to is art. The world appreciates science, intelligence, associates greatness with it, you knew that much. But the world is art, you knew that much too.
You go into a restaurant, it feels homely, and she loves the smell of slightly burned bread crust in the afternoon so she follows suit. You talk about tons of things that time seems to file on top of you without any capacity to move away. Time does that a lot. She shares a bit of her. Teenage years. She talks about herself like she’s a separate person in complete contrast to how she is now, but without any regrets. Time seems to really do that a lot.
She talks about a Tiffany, some Southern California babe who bakes and is extremely pretty. She talks about how she was sure she could fall in love with her. They lived in the same dormitory. High school. Both having no mothers, they hit it off right away. She gives careful short sentences afterwards, picking her words thoroughly as if a wrong word can set off a bomb inside her. She stops mid-sentence and breaks into a smile, finishing off with: “But I never really loved her anyway.”
“That’s new.”
“I didn’t used to be the way I am now.”
It certainly set off a bomb inside you.
You wait in your seat, feeling the waves crash against you. You wonder if it would hurt as much if you weren’t willing, more unattached, much closer to the shore rather than the waters. But everything is heavy now, not just your heart, all of you, so willingly giving in to her. You wonder if she could move you, if she even would want to move you. You wonder when her waters would be calm enough to allow you to see the depth of her, allow you to move tides and see the vastness of her, allow you to explore the treasure that hide in the darkness of her. But first of all, you wonder if she had taught you to swim at all.
You only know how to resist the waves, accept their force as they come and go. You have become heavy in her embrace, you could only sink in them.
And lastly, you wonder if you even mind at all. The thought only occurred to you now.
The food arrives. She eats like a hungry hobo who hasn’t eaten in a whole week so there goes your distraction. You briefly think of how she remains so thin when she can clear out her plate in mere minutes, which reminds that you that you should get started too, otherwise there wouldn’t be any food left for you at the rate she’s going.
“I’m worried that I need to order another separate serving for myself.”
Her mouth is too full to give you a comprehensible retort.
“Alright, slow down, you’re beginning to look like a wild animal.”
But she pays no mind to you. She has moments like this. You heave a sigh. No matter. The ocean remains where the ocean is. The sea where the sea is. Water is a need, and as a need, it stays. It has never run away. The waves crash against you. It is confusing because you don’t know if it’s pulling you closer or pushing you away.
But it’s there. It stays. And it chose to stay with you.
You will yourself to eat, unlike most days. It must mean something if she chose to stay with you, right? She loves everyone but she only chooses to have you. It must mean something, right? You look at her and she is already looking, your gazes lock and you must have looked like you were pleading because she slaps and pinches you lightly, as if to bring you back to reality.
She isn’t the ocean. The waves do not crash against you. If anything, she is art, you decided.
And if she isn’t the ocean, then maybe she would run away eventually. You do not wish to live to see that day. You’d rather she is the ocean. She doesn’t even have to be your ocean. Just the ocean, so she wouldn’t find a way to move so far away from you.
But alas, when she smiles mockingly at you and points out the dishes she has emptied so well, you do not argue that she has an impact on you. A force. Though probably not as strong, as pulling and as certain as the current.
A force that might not be exactly love.
You have lost the will to eat. She will likely liken it to a miracle because you never lose the will to eat, eating personified might as well be you. But you realize you do not hunger for the things that are easy to satisfy, instead you hunger for the impossible and accept that hungry is all you’ll ever be.
She frowns at you. She knows you have been too far away and she pulls you back. You are still at her mercy.
“Something wrong?”
“If I say yes, will you be able to make it right?”
“Depends on what it is.”
***
A/N: Hello. I'm not yet officially on break. Okay, just one more week then I'm free to write whatever shit I want for like the whole month. Yay! So the lack of updates is because I've started college and college is weird and tiring and formal writing stuff. I find I don't like formal writing much. But I've met nice people.
Anyway, personal stories aside, if you find mistakes please point them out to me as I didn't bother to beta.
About this one, I found this one the hardest to write. ;w; But I guess that's also because this is quite personal to me compared to the others. Or it could be just that I haven't written in a while, for this fandom, at least. This is originally intended to be much longer but asdasfgalsdsfsd I don't know. Am I evil enough? Open ending, y/n?
→ Changmin/Yoona
→ This is her story. She loves everyone and everything, that includes you. This is your story. You are only in love with her. That is the problem.
She is rather compliant of your requests. She loves you, quite dearly. She is quick to love certain things. She loves and had loved quite a number of people, have been with them, have allowed them into her personal space, have allowed them to share into a part of her life, have allowed them to take a bit of her. But not her fully.
She has never let them take the whole of her.
You are a victim of circumstance. A force not controlled by you. But if it were upon your hand at all, you wish you had not seen her. You wish the wind had not swept a feeling inside you and spurred it to burst so openly that it lay in front of her so willingly, like a nation surrendering in a war they are sure not to win, although surely there is no known victory in any battle. There is glory. But there is no victory, only loss. In war, there is no way of gaining. It only knew one way of things - losing. And any loss is still loss all and the same. Losing until the void is demanded to be made full again. But the emptiness remains. There is no repair. And you just settle for the damage inside you to feel like it isn’t. You confuse yourself that you had not gone to a battle with your own feelings and thoughts. You confuse yourself that you had not fallen so deep. You confuse yourself that you remain undamaged.
But there is so much clarity, in comparison, within her. You do not understand why and how, but it is there. She shines bright in the morning and at night. Bright, in a way, that feels as if the whole world had just been too dark before. You were perfectly fine before but now knowing what brightness is like, it’s all you ever want for the world to be. To be bright, because it’s better and nicer and prettier. And you greed for that light. Greed for it, not want it. Because you know what want feels like and want pales in comparison to what you feel for her.
You hate yourself for it, beat yourself up for it. Because she’s supposed to be bad for you. She makes you wish for impossible things. She is that impossible thing. She makes you still want that impossible thing. Want it so bad, it’s unhealthy. The feeling is unbearably settling in the pit of your stomach like heavy alcohol the first time your virgin alcoholic lips tasted gin without any tonic. It burns your lips and numbs you but you still want it because that’s the kind of alcoholic you are.
That’s the kind of person you are and those are the kind of needs that you have and will always have probably, because she will never let you have her. That’s the kind of person she is.
You are rather compliant of her requests too. You love her, quite dearly. You are more hesitant to love certain things. You have loved only one other person before her, have allowed her to take you fully, returning you whole is only possible by breaking you apart.
But you don’t blame her for the way you are now, you loved her. You can never blame her. The same way you don’t blame this one you love now.
“I’ve got a suggestion.”
She speaks with so much excitable energy, your warm curious gaze falls on her lips as she says them, tracing and catching them as they fall into the noisy rumblings of the subway engine as you two attempt at distances.
“Let’s get off here.”
She is not always as spontaneous and adventurous as she is today, pushing past people to make her way out of the cart. You meant to ask why, but it could be left for another day.
“Okay. We’re off. What do you plan on doing now?”
“Do you have your whole life all planned out? Plans are boring, you know.”
You were planning to argue your point. Plans aren’t boring. Planning is the correct way on going about things. Without it, there wouldn’t be any security. No assurance. Who would want to live in a world like that? But her feet are fast as she walks away from you.
You manage to catch her. She is spinning, her arms spread wide and her eyes shut close. You grab her hand and make her encircle her arms around your neck. You put your hands on her waist. She blinks her eyes open and smiles at you.
“You have to take risks. With each fresh step, you discover things.” She touches your nose playfully. “See, look at you, you know how to dance without music.”
You come to a sudden stop. The two of you had been swaying.
You were planning to argue your point. There is music everywhere. There is music in her voice, in her eyes, in her hair, on her skin, notes crawling and playing along. There is music even if it refuses to be heard, music that goes beyond what ears can hear. Your face twists into a smile of some sort, you were planning to argue your point, but she was right, plans are boring. Plans are ridiculous.
You spin her once, twirling her by her fingertips and embrace her from the back.
“You should see me when there is music.”
“I should.” She laughs.
There. Music. Though you have no idea if it is mocking or sincere.
It must have been quite a scene, for people to turn to an audience just by the little strange thing the two of you together have started doing. It must have made them curious, seeing two typical strangers hearing and swaying along to something they can’t hear. But you know, everyone hears the same thing, people just interpret differently.
The music they hear is dull. The music you listen to is art. The world appreciates science, intelligence, associates greatness with it, you knew that much. But the world is art, you knew that much too.
You go into a restaurant, it feels homely, and she loves the smell of slightly burned bread crust in the afternoon so she follows suit. You talk about tons of things that time seems to file on top of you without any capacity to move away. Time does that a lot. She shares a bit of her. Teenage years. She talks about herself like she’s a separate person in complete contrast to how she is now, but without any regrets. Time seems to really do that a lot.
She talks about a Tiffany, some Southern California babe who bakes and is extremely pretty. She talks about how she was sure she could fall in love with her. They lived in the same dormitory. High school. Both having no mothers, they hit it off right away. She gives careful short sentences afterwards, picking her words thoroughly as if a wrong word can set off a bomb inside her. She stops mid-sentence and breaks into a smile, finishing off with: “But I never really loved her anyway.”
“That’s new.”
“I didn’t used to be the way I am now.”
It certainly set off a bomb inside you.
You wait in your seat, feeling the waves crash against you. You wonder if it would hurt as much if you weren’t willing, more unattached, much closer to the shore rather than the waters. But everything is heavy now, not just your heart, all of you, so willingly giving in to her. You wonder if she could move you, if she even would want to move you. You wonder when her waters would be calm enough to allow you to see the depth of her, allow you to move tides and see the vastness of her, allow you to explore the treasure that hide in the darkness of her. But first of all, you wonder if she had taught you to swim at all.
You only know how to resist the waves, accept their force as they come and go. You have become heavy in her embrace, you could only sink in them.
And lastly, you wonder if you even mind at all. The thought only occurred to you now.
The food arrives. She eats like a hungry hobo who hasn’t eaten in a whole week so there goes your distraction. You briefly think of how she remains so thin when she can clear out her plate in mere minutes, which reminds that you that you should get started too, otherwise there wouldn’t be any food left for you at the rate she’s going.
“I’m worried that I need to order another separate serving for myself.”
Her mouth is too full to give you a comprehensible retort.
“Alright, slow down, you’re beginning to look like a wild animal.”
But she pays no mind to you. She has moments like this. You heave a sigh. No matter. The ocean remains where the ocean is. The sea where the sea is. Water is a need, and as a need, it stays. It has never run away. The waves crash against you. It is confusing because you don’t know if it’s pulling you closer or pushing you away.
But it’s there. It stays. And it chose to stay with you.
You will yourself to eat, unlike most days. It must mean something if she chose to stay with you, right? She loves everyone but she only chooses to have you. It must mean something, right? You look at her and she is already looking, your gazes lock and you must have looked like you were pleading because she slaps and pinches you lightly, as if to bring you back to reality.
She isn’t the ocean. The waves do not crash against you. If anything, she is art, you decided.
And if she isn’t the ocean, then maybe she would run away eventually. You do not wish to live to see that day. You’d rather she is the ocean. She doesn’t even have to be your ocean. Just the ocean, so she wouldn’t find a way to move so far away from you.
But alas, when she smiles mockingly at you and points out the dishes she has emptied so well, you do not argue that she has an impact on you. A force. Though probably not as strong, as pulling and as certain as the current.
A force that might not be exactly love.
You have lost the will to eat. She will likely liken it to a miracle because you never lose the will to eat, eating personified might as well be you. But you realize you do not hunger for the things that are easy to satisfy, instead you hunger for the impossible and accept that hungry is all you’ll ever be.
She frowns at you. She knows you have been too far away and she pulls you back. You are still at her mercy.
“Something wrong?”
“If I say yes, will you be able to make it right?”
“Depends on what it is.”
***
A/N: Hello. I'm not yet officially on break. Okay, just one more week then I'm free to write whatever shit I want for like the whole month. Yay! So the lack of updates is because I've started college and college is weird and tiring and formal writing stuff. I find I don't like formal writing much. But I've met nice people.
Anyway, personal stories aside, if you find mistakes please point them out to me as I didn't bother to beta.
About this one, I found this one the hardest to write. ;w; But I guess that's also because this is quite personal to me compared to the others. Or it could be just that I haven't written in a while, for this fandom, at least. This is originally intended to be much longer but asdasfgalsdsfsd I don't know. Am I evil enough? Open ending, y/n?