boyfriend in the backseat
boyfriend in the backseat
314w; pg-13 (sojin/simon)
careless in our summer clothes, hot water bleeding our colors.
a/n: short sojin/simon that i wrote a while ago.
hushed whispers: the neighbors can hear us.
hushed.
it’s kind of embarrassing, really, the way she thinks it’s completely ok to strip with the shutters wide open, city subconsciously catcalling from below; some kind of habit, he’s gathered from their many years together, how she just breaks open the door and starts changing in the middle of the hallway. some people have to get away - release themselves from the skin they’ve worn through the thinning of work, edamame beans sighing as they exit their confines - to come back to life, to be alive, to be home, home concerning his four limbs tangling with hers, naked or clothed as they may be.
like a lightning strike needs the ground, like the thunder needs to rip through the horizon - ultimately self-destructive, but you wouldn’t have it any other way: the regret reflex, cousins with the gag, sees its way through.
contrary to popular belief, the heart does not break all at once, but rather, it slowly begins to crumble through the abuse of time and small unhappinesses, the measure of a forgotten anniversary or reference, the weight of disagreement and compromise. sometimes, you’re feeling around to gauge the contours of this heart and find a dent - the crack to that happiness, the beginning of your time ending - five years with no child, five years of condoms and safe sex, one haphazard time he didn’t because you purposely forgot to remind him; nothing happened.
volatile words: let them hear.
words, lost in translation.
in sleep, they are spoons, nonpolar and uncharged substances that stick to the other like life and death despite it all: the inexplicable concepts that demand our fear and attention, though, once we triumph such apprehension, we become free to choose - the life that is ours, the loves that we love, the responses and people we intimately touch - and, spoons, spoons choose each other.
314w; pg-13 (sojin/simon)
careless in our summer clothes, hot water bleeding our colors.
a/n: short sojin/simon that i wrote a while ago.
hushed whispers: the neighbors can hear us.
hushed.
it’s kind of embarrassing, really, the way she thinks it’s completely ok to strip with the shutters wide open, city subconsciously catcalling from below; some kind of habit, he’s gathered from their many years together, how she just breaks open the door and starts changing in the middle of the hallway. some people have to get away - release themselves from the skin they’ve worn through the thinning of work, edamame beans sighing as they exit their confines - to come back to life, to be alive, to be home, home concerning his four limbs tangling with hers, naked or clothed as they may be.
like a lightning strike needs the ground, like the thunder needs to rip through the horizon - ultimately self-destructive, but you wouldn’t have it any other way: the regret reflex, cousins with the gag, sees its way through.
contrary to popular belief, the heart does not break all at once, but rather, it slowly begins to crumble through the abuse of time and small unhappinesses, the measure of a forgotten anniversary or reference, the weight of disagreement and compromise. sometimes, you’re feeling around to gauge the contours of this heart and find a dent - the crack to that happiness, the beginning of your time ending - five years with no child, five years of condoms and safe sex, one haphazard time he didn’t because you purposely forgot to remind him; nothing happened.
volatile words: let them hear.
words, lost in translation.
in sleep, they are spoons, nonpolar and uncharged substances that stick to the other like life and death despite it all: the inexplicable concepts that demand our fear and attention, though, once we triumph such apprehension, we become free to choose - the life that is ours, the loves that we love, the responses and people we intimately touch - and, spoons, spoons choose each other.