#29
Five requests:
1. Super junior, qmi, paper hearts, R highest
2. Infinite, woogyu, tatooed wings, any rating [Filled]
3. U-kiss, soohoon, electric shocks (angst), pg highest [Filled]
4. infinite, myungyeol, up up and away (angst), any rating [Filled]
5. super junior, kyumin, kyuhyun is a mailman and sungmin is broke, any rating
Please avoid the ( Read more... )
1. Super junior, qmi, paper hearts, R highest
2. Infinite, woogyu, tatooed wings, any rating [Filled]
3. U-kiss, soohoon, electric shocks (angst), pg highest [Filled]
4. infinite, myungyeol, up up and away (angst), any rating [Filled]
5. super junior, kyumin, kyuhyun is a mailman and sungmin is broke, any rating
Please avoid the ( Read more... )
Comments 29
sungyeol let myungsoo in after exactly fifty-seven knocks, knowing that myungsoo won’t (will never) give up and would probably spend the next few hours thumping on the door and calling out vulgarities. he glanced at sungyeol’s ratty eeyore pyjamas, threw his head back and laughed, revealing a huge expanse of skin and bones. sungyeol pulled him into the house and shut the door closed, muttering expletives.
“what’s so funny?” he asked sulkily, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes.
“nothing, I think it’s perfectly normal that you have a kink for depressed donkeys,” myungsoo replied. his eyes widened a few seconds later and there was a sharp intake of breath heard amidst the choking silence and darkness of the house.
“shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- uh, sorry,” he grabbed both of sungyeol’s hands, pulling him in close.
“I’m sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry.”
it was like a mantra, a song meant to lull sungyeol to sleep. myungsoo kept repeating it in hushed tones, fisting sungyeol’s shirt, crumpling up the morose-looking donkeys, until all ( ... )
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sungyeol made some coffee - he had moved up to real coffee - yeah, beans, filters, the whole nine yards. he enjoyed the aroma of roasting coffee beans; just let it cook, simmer for a while and allow the smell to bounce off the walls. what he liked best, though, was the taste - so bitter and vile it bordered on morbid. he usually downed two cups in one go, to get rid of the cloying after-taste of his pill-concoction. he never tire of the sensation.
when a person drinks instant coffee all his life, he is seriously fucked. the real deal was too much. one can’t get his tongue around the thick black liquid that threatened to choke up the airways. it packed one hell of a punch though, two cups and sungyeol was off his feet. small multi-coloured magic pills swirling in tumultuous waves of coffee and he was ready for the day.
the phone started ringing right when sungyeol was about to go out to the store to get more coffee. he almost wanted to leave it for the answering machine to pick up - at least he would have something to listen to when he ( ... )
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myungsoo arrived half an hour late, apologizing profusely, and adding, almost as an afterthought, that he had forgotten to bring his wallet. sungyeol ended up paying for the movie, popcorn, drinks and listening to myungsoo’s endless commentary of how he fell down on the way to the shower.
“I’m buying us lunch,” myungsoo announced, grinning.
sungyeol shook his head, letting out a sigh as he checked his wallet. myungsoo came up to him, closed the flap of the wallet, and took sungyeol’s hand. the manic glint in his eyes was back. myungsoo dragged sungyeol down the snow-filled street, past the local cafes and boutiques, pausing only for a second to look at their reflections, glancing meaningfully at sungyeol’s exposed wrists (scars). sungyeol gave him the finger before pulling down the sleeves of his worn-out sweatshirt.
he realised that they were walking up a familiar street. just to be completely sure, he checked the name on the letterbox and raised his eyebrows when he saw myungsoo climbing over the fence.
“would you like to tell me why ( ... )
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sungyeol walked in on myungsoo flipping through a dusty volume of Great Expectations with the letters S.J. scrawled on the cover in glittery pink.
“you never struck me as a Dickens fan,” sungyeol said.
“I’m not. someone left it for me.”
sungyeol doesn’t need to ask twice.
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sungyeol was seventeen when his parents tried to kill him. they planned about how they would pass off his death as ‘improvised suicide’ when the neighbours finally found him dead in the bathtub, his congealing blood drawing flies into the cold water. they were stopped by a neighbour, who was always too curious for his own good.
sungyeol was ancient by the time he moved into his aunt’s old apartment, where the toilet only had showerheads and no tubs. he was far too broken when he met his new neighbour, a boy with a beautiful smile and sad, haunting eyes. (he cracked a little bit more though, when the knowing smiles and raised eyebrows made him swallow a double dosage of the medication he was given to ease the pain.)
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myungsoo was busy spreading out the ashes delivered by sunggyu in his garden when the phone started ringing.
“get it for me please,” he called out as he patted the soft lump of gray, smoothening it out with the pads of his fingers.
the person on the other line was already crying when sungyeol answered the phone. “hello?”
“uh, hi, this is hoya,” he sniffed before adding on, “listen, uh, myungsoo, I love you. that’s what you want to hear, right?”
it wasn’t, actually, sungyeol mused, glancing over at myungsoo’s back. it was pretty saddening, really. it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard it hundreds of times before, enough times for all these confessions to blur in his head so all their lips meshed together and sounded like they were talking to him with cheeks stuffed with dried blood and broken glass.
“myungsoo? you there? you’re happy now?”
“I’m happy for you,” sungyeol replied and hung up.
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sungyeol drank countless cups of coffee until his heart banged against his chest, feeling dizzy when he stood up. he took a different route home, skin prickly ( ... )
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