orenjimaru
in
inorae
Hanging Fingerprints
Author: orenjimaru
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst & confused mindfuckery
Pairing: Nichkhun-centric KhunJay
Summary: Nichkhun doesn't understand; a life like this was never his intention anyway.
AN1: For spreadwings, who hasn't read any decent fics with Nichkhun in a while. I hope you enjoy this one bby.
AN2: I know this is all disjointed and barely connected and all over the place, but I meant it to be that way. Sorry if it confuses you ;A;
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, kthxbai.
Hanging Fingerprints
I spend my weekdays counting down to the weekend. I spend my day times counting down to night time. I spend my minutes counting down to a new hour.
Calendars; pages and pages, covers upon covers. And clocks; of all shapes and sizes, all ticking, all synchronised. They're all that decorate the walls of my mind.
I spend all of my time counting time, wasting time. And I don't want to any more.
---
I am a cold human being.
I didn't use to be. Up until the harsh realities of the world crashed over my head and swept me under, I was as warm a person as you could ever find. But that is no excuse.
I am a cold human being now.
They all say, oh Nichkhun, you're such a lovely person, you're perfect, if only I could be like you.
I can be lovely sometimes.
When I'm bowed over under a steaming shower, letting water rush through each strand of hair, when the tiny droplets fall from my ears to my eyelashes, when it feels like the weary dirtiness of the world is dissolving from the surface of my tired shell.
I have my good moments. They enter without warning in a flash of brilliance, and then exit just as abruptly. Like shooting stars. Spectacular, short-lived, sad. Splashes of spectacularly short-lived sadness.
But in the end, everything hurts. It just fucking hurts.
And I can't help but mouth why silently, over and over.
---
Often, I want to be underwater.
Water surrounding my very being.
Nothing matters except trying to breathe.
That's the only thing I have to worry about.
When I come up for air, I have to think about life again.
I have to figure out a way to be happy. To appear happy. To make people happy.
I have to think too much when I come up for air.
I just want to drown.
---
What I want is to get out of this place.
The people, the media, the fans, the scandals, the drama, the attention, all this crap, it's suffocating me. I just want to escape to some place new, where nobody knows Nichkhun Buck Horvejkul. I wouldn't need to be who I think they want me to be. I could simply be. Just another simple existence on the surface of the earth.
I am going to escape.
I am going to be free.
---
Because sometimes, people do actually feel that way. Sometimes, your life does feel like it's caving in on you. Sometimes, people really do feel like they don't want to exist any more, like they want to curl up in a ball, and go to that place between life and death. The mystery, the void, the blank.
Saying "I don't want to exist" doesn't equate to saying "I want to die".
It's saying "I wish that, for the time being, I could go somewhere and not have to feel".
I don't think there's anything wrong with that.
---
Then sometimes, my phone buzzes.
And his voice filters in through the device, metallic and harsh, but it's his voice all the same. It's warm, familiar ground, like stepping back into a room from your childhood, one you haven't visited in a long time.
Stupid, reckless, carefree. How is it that someone can be all that I have ever wanted myself to be?
Khun, not everything has to have a reason. Get out, fuck up, fall in love, give it all up, let nothing go, never look back, just always remember. Get lost, get found, turn up the volume, roll the windows down. Break the rules, right turn on red, we'll all forgive you later.
Stupid, reckless, carefree. I can hear his grin, even halfway across the globe from Seattle.
Khun, don't ever question who you are. Don't you ever fucking question your own art. Even when you can't speak its language.
I grin too, and clarity bubbles up inside me. Slowly, I start giving in to laughter, letting it grow until I end up with wet cheeks and stitches in my sides. My right ear is reddened from being pressed against the hard plastic of the phone too hard for too long, and his half-confused chuckles are still seeping through the earpiece.
That's when I realise, it never needed to make sense in the first place.
It just needed to be lived.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst & confused mindfuckery
Pairing: Nichkhun-centric KhunJay
Summary: Nichkhun doesn't understand; a life like this was never his intention anyway.
AN1: For spreadwings, who hasn't read any decent fics with Nichkhun in a while. I hope you enjoy this one bby.
AN2: I know this is all disjointed and barely connected and all over the place, but I meant it to be that way. Sorry if it confuses you ;A;
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, kthxbai.
Hanging Fingerprints
I spend my weekdays counting down to the weekend. I spend my day times counting down to night time. I spend my minutes counting down to a new hour.
Calendars; pages and pages, covers upon covers. And clocks; of all shapes and sizes, all ticking, all synchronised. They're all that decorate the walls of my mind.
I spend all of my time counting time, wasting time. And I don't want to any more.
---
I am a cold human being.
I didn't use to be. Up until the harsh realities of the world crashed over my head and swept me under, I was as warm a person as you could ever find. But that is no excuse.
I am a cold human being now.
They all say, oh Nichkhun, you're such a lovely person, you're perfect, if only I could be like you.
I can be lovely sometimes.
When I'm bowed over under a steaming shower, letting water rush through each strand of hair, when the tiny droplets fall from my ears to my eyelashes, when it feels like the weary dirtiness of the world is dissolving from the surface of my tired shell.
I have my good moments. They enter without warning in a flash of brilliance, and then exit just as abruptly. Like shooting stars. Spectacular, short-lived, sad. Splashes of spectacularly short-lived sadness.
But in the end, everything hurts. It just fucking hurts.
And I can't help but mouth why silently, over and over.
---
Often, I want to be underwater.
Water surrounding my very being.
Nothing matters except trying to breathe.
That's the only thing I have to worry about.
When I come up for air, I have to think about life again.
I have to figure out a way to be happy. To appear happy. To make people happy.
I have to think too much when I come up for air.
I just want to drown.
---
What I want is to get out of this place.
The people, the media, the fans, the scandals, the drama, the attention, all this crap, it's suffocating me. I just want to escape to some place new, where nobody knows Nichkhun Buck Horvejkul. I wouldn't need to be who I think they want me to be. I could simply be. Just another simple existence on the surface of the earth.
I am going to escape.
I am going to be free.
---
Because sometimes, people do actually feel that way. Sometimes, your life does feel like it's caving in on you. Sometimes, people really do feel like they don't want to exist any more, like they want to curl up in a ball, and go to that place between life and death. The mystery, the void, the blank.
Saying "I don't want to exist" doesn't equate to saying "I want to die".
It's saying "I wish that, for the time being, I could go somewhere and not have to feel".
I don't think there's anything wrong with that.
---
Then sometimes, my phone buzzes.
And his voice filters in through the device, metallic and harsh, but it's his voice all the same. It's warm, familiar ground, like stepping back into a room from your childhood, one you haven't visited in a long time.
Stupid, reckless, carefree. How is it that someone can be all that I have ever wanted myself to be?
Khun, not everything has to have a reason. Get out, fuck up, fall in love, give it all up, let nothing go, never look back, just always remember. Get lost, get found, turn up the volume, roll the windows down. Break the rules, right turn on red, we'll all forgive you later.
Stupid, reckless, carefree. I can hear his grin, even halfway across the globe from Seattle.
Khun, don't ever question who you are. Don't you ever fucking question your own art. Even when you can't speak its language.
I grin too, and clarity bubbles up inside me. Slowly, I start giving in to laughter, letting it grow until I end up with wet cheeks and stitches in my sides. My right ear is reddened from being pressed against the hard plastic of the phone too hard for too long, and his half-confused chuckles are still seeping through the earpiece.
That's when I realise, it never needed to make sense in the first place.
It just needed to be lived.