NOT SCIENCE, JUST US
DISCLAIMER:
The following work(s) are fictitious in nature, including but not limited to characters and events. The content herein, coincidental or otherwise, is in no way a true reflection of the actual celebrities depicted, and is purely created for personal entertainment. No profit is being made. Any artwork is made by me unless otherwise stated.
not science, just us
yonghwa/seohyun ⌖ 405w → pg-13
we're going to start making sense of things.
[ ♫ hours ]
Unravelled and boundless, city-thick sodium and smog, blue and pulsing. Yellow lights, yellow dust through the windows and airy curtains and the space between their dusky silhouettes. Fluttering eyes and incandescent, backs against the wall, and fingers tracing the lifelines, the veins along their arms and into the crook of their elbows like it might lead them somewhere.
He kisses her hand first, lips lingering before they find the underside of her wrist, and she holds her breath in an attempt to quiet her heart. He hovers, bites his lower lip, and looks down at their clasped hands and how the red is infinitely and hopelessly curled and falling around them.
I'm sorry, he says, but it sounds more like, I'm not sorry, and it's okay, it's okay. He lifts her chin, and she swallows, and she thinks of summer storms and their heat and humidity and maybe there's anticipation or maybe, maybe, maybe. She blinks, and his mouth is on hers or maybe her mouth is on his, but he's moving and so does she because it's what she's supposed to do (and what she's not). It's only slightly forceful, almost desperate, and unrefined. She feels like crying, like her heart is filling up with too much air, and there's nowhere else to put it.
And when he pulls away, he doesn't release her. He rests his forehead against hers, and he's looking at her with lidded eyes and huh, she thinks with a detached sense of awe, because he has yellow flecks in his irises and it's like they're shimmering gold and all she can think of is the sun burning bright or citrus and honey. There's mint on her tongue, and it's addicting. She hesitates twice, and then she's kissing him and he's smiling against hers, and oh god because she can feel the blush spreading across her cheeks, flushing red, and she might burn up from the nervousness and the rush and, and, and.
Sparks and white stars, skin skin skin, muscle and nerve endings with every synapse firing like electrical hardwiring short-circuiting. Breathe, are you breathing, a hiss, and it's all in his head or maybe it's in hers; their oxygen is all used up, and there's nothing left. Sleep, half-awake, sleep again, and wide eyes. The hours, the hours - a slow crawl, and maybe, maybe infinite. They'll never get there. It's too far, and they could be drowning.
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* companion piece to ribbon connectivity