[eunhyuk/donghae] Running Blind With Eyes Wide Open [part zero]
Running Blind With Eyes Wide Open by catskilt
eunhyuk/donghae
pg-13; 573 words; multi-chapter
there was a lifetime in each other, if they chose to see it.
thanking warmboys for all the encouragement and support ♥ this fic is a multi-chapter, as yet unfinished.
Running Blind With Eyes Wide Open
part zero; a moment
Donghae could have stayed in bed for a couple more hours that morning, but he chooses to get up instead.
It is hard, after all, to remain in bed when you've long been in the habit of getting up at seven o' clock. The mind begins thinking, the eyes open and refuse to be closed. Perhaps tomorrow he'll stay in bed for fifteen more minutes, and the next day for half an hour, and maybe by the end of the week he won't get up till noon.
Noon's the furthest he'll go. Afternoon visiting hours in the nursing home are from one to six, and if he's going to miss the morning hours he's not going to waste any of the afternoon's.
He makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen; starts the coffee machine, opens the fridge for butter and jam. He can't be bothered to make an intricate breakfast; he's not often hungry now, and there's no point in going to all that trouble for himself. The coffee machine cranks. It's getting old, too.
A strong, rain-smelling wind is blowing in the garden outside, throwing swaying shadows of leaves onto the photo frame opposite the microwave. The glass gleams one second, darkens the next on the two smiling faces. His blue enamel mug is slightly chipped at the top (when had that happened?), butter and jam sweet and salty on wholemeal bread. The floor tiles are cold and impersonal underneath his feet as he contemplates the photo frame, wakes up from morning vagueness with the bitterness of coffee. Maybe he should move now, find a smaller place, a one-room apartment that would be more suited to his mobility and needs.
As always, he abandons the idea before it has a chance to grow. He finishes his simple sandwich and makes his way slowly out of the kitchen. His joints ache; it might be due to the coming rain. For a moment he fancies he hears a bed creaking, phlegm clearing, but he remembers that there's nobody there. He's living alone now. Sounds are imaginary.
An hour later he's washed and smelling of soap. He has his good coat on, his pavement-beaten leather shoes, his wallet in his pocket. He wonders if there's anything else he should be bringing along; a towel maybe, a change of underwear, a new toothbrush? He doesn't want to remember that the nursing home is more than capable of taking care of all that; he doesn't want to relinquish his caretaker role yet though he has, ironically, already relinquished it. The thought makes him sad, but he and Hyukjae had promised each other before Hyukjae left that they won't dwell. Not for something so necessary and practical as this. There will be other more important things to dwell on.
It begins to rain just as he's about to leave. He pauses for a moment; takes off his leather shoes and goes into the empty bedroom on the ground floor. It's still and cold and brown-tinted by the closed windows. Donghae slides the windows back a crack, lets in a little of the wind. The blades in the small portable fan standing on the chest of drawers begin to rotate slowly, unsurely.
He stands in the middle of the room, watching the lines of rain flickering carelessly and irregularly onto the garden. Hyukjae would have liked to see this. Hyukjae would say, the grass will be green again.
next: part one; a past
eunhyuk/donghae
pg-13; 573 words; multi-chapter
there was a lifetime in each other, if they chose to see it.
thanking warmboys for all the encouragement and support ♥ this fic is a multi-chapter, as yet unfinished.
Running Blind With Eyes Wide Open
part zero; a moment
Donghae could have stayed in bed for a couple more hours that morning, but he chooses to get up instead.
It is hard, after all, to remain in bed when you've long been in the habit of getting up at seven o' clock. The mind begins thinking, the eyes open and refuse to be closed. Perhaps tomorrow he'll stay in bed for fifteen more minutes, and the next day for half an hour, and maybe by the end of the week he won't get up till noon.
Noon's the furthest he'll go. Afternoon visiting hours in the nursing home are from one to six, and if he's going to miss the morning hours he's not going to waste any of the afternoon's.
He makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen; starts the coffee machine, opens the fridge for butter and jam. He can't be bothered to make an intricate breakfast; he's not often hungry now, and there's no point in going to all that trouble for himself. The coffee machine cranks. It's getting old, too.
A strong, rain-smelling wind is blowing in the garden outside, throwing swaying shadows of leaves onto the photo frame opposite the microwave. The glass gleams one second, darkens the next on the two smiling faces. His blue enamel mug is slightly chipped at the top (when had that happened?), butter and jam sweet and salty on wholemeal bread. The floor tiles are cold and impersonal underneath his feet as he contemplates the photo frame, wakes up from morning vagueness with the bitterness of coffee. Maybe he should move now, find a smaller place, a one-room apartment that would be more suited to his mobility and needs.
As always, he abandons the idea before it has a chance to grow. He finishes his simple sandwich and makes his way slowly out of the kitchen. His joints ache; it might be due to the coming rain. For a moment he fancies he hears a bed creaking, phlegm clearing, but he remembers that there's nobody there. He's living alone now. Sounds are imaginary.
An hour later he's washed and smelling of soap. He has his good coat on, his pavement-beaten leather shoes, his wallet in his pocket. He wonders if there's anything else he should be bringing along; a towel maybe, a change of underwear, a new toothbrush? He doesn't want to remember that the nursing home is more than capable of taking care of all that; he doesn't want to relinquish his caretaker role yet though he has, ironically, already relinquished it. The thought makes him sad, but he and Hyukjae had promised each other before Hyukjae left that they won't dwell. Not for something so necessary and practical as this. There will be other more important things to dwell on.
It begins to rain just as he's about to leave. He pauses for a moment; takes off his leather shoes and goes into the empty bedroom on the ground floor. It's still and cold and brown-tinted by the closed windows. Donghae slides the windows back a crack, lets in a little of the wind. The blades in the small portable fan standing on the chest of drawers begin to rotate slowly, unsurely.
He stands in the middle of the room, watching the lines of rain flickering carelessly and irregularly onto the garden. Hyukjae would have liked to see this. Hyukjae would say, the grass will be green again.
next: part one; a past