[exo] someday, one day, not today
|| kris-centric, kris x yixing | pg | angst ||
warning: #HowToGrammar // disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended whatsoever.
summary: i do not need to be happy. i just want to be okay.
a/n: inspired by rl events and this fic i read a long time ago. cant remember the title/author. give me a shout out if you know!
**
someday, one day, not today ;;
Everyday, every single day without fail, he wakes up with a hole in his chest, a tear in his soul, and a question in his head and upon his lips.
Is today the day when I finally get over you?
The answer comes in the thick suffocating silence that surrounds him, the brittle and frigid cold that seeps and bleeds through the pores of his skin - numbing his senses and encasing his heart in an icy tomb.
Didn’t we promise each other that if we ever decide to go our separate ways; we’ll leave and disappear from the other person’s life? Because it’ll be far too painful for either you or me?
He lets his tired eyes fall shut and a sigh escapes him - quiet and heartfelt. Resigned.
So why do I see you in every little thing I do? Why do you insist on haunting my dreams with your soft smile and gentle touch?
He slowly cracks his eyes open when he feels moisture on his cheeks and tastes a hint of salt on the tip of his tongue. His heart constricts painfully in his chest.
Staring up at the sky blue ceiling with that one solitary 4-point star right above him, Kris raises an arm - hand reaching for it. His fingers close around the still and silent air.
Why am I still so hung up on you when you’re gone?
He whispers - voice echoing slightly before a sudden gust of wind flows in through the open windows, bringing it away.
Kris involuntarily shudders, not from the wind but rather from the ice in his bones, the icy shards in his wounded heart.
-
Most of the days, he wakes up alone on a bed he has had for over a decade, a bed that is just a little too big now. Now that he’s all but only one. One, when there used to be two.
One too few than what he’s used to. He shakes his head wearily.
When will I stop holding on and clinging to the memories of the past, the ghosts of yesterdays?
Kris slowly gets up and heads for the bathroom to shave and brush his teeth.
His long fingers gripping and curling over the edge of the cool marble sink, he leans in and murmurs to his bedraggled reflection in the mirror.
When will I start to live again - to learn to breathe without you by my side?
Will I be able to do it? Will I be able to let go?
He isn’t sure what he wants for an answer.
-
And then on certain days, when the loneliness gets just a little too much for him to bear, when he gets so tired of being alone and empty, he allows the sensation of cold helplessness -the bleak hopelessness - to push him past the doors and into the head-pounding music and obnoxiously bright lights of Exotic Exotics!, the club two streets down from Kris’ apartment.
Heading straight for the bar, he sits on one of the high stools and prepares himself for at least an hour of being there. He’s determined to get shitfaced drunk, and nothing will change his mind.
Tipping back his head and downing glass after glass of hard liquor, Kris lets the alcohol burn a fiery trail down his throat.
If there’s some kind of God up there, he thinks blearily - mind heavy with the alcohol-induced haze, make me forget. Even if it’s only for one night or a few measly hours, make me forget.
His plea gets ignored and goes unanswered. Every single time.
Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.
-
The morning afters are the worst.
Not only does he wake up with a splitting headache in addition to the ever-present gaping hole in his heart, more often than not, he finds a naked stranger next to him.
It is then when Kris gets filled with a sense of dread and panic. He’s utterly disgusted and repulsed with himself. He brought this complete stranger into their home, their room, and lets them sleep in their bed.
He’s the worst.
Kris throws up a little in his parched mouth.
A faint image will then float unbidden and uncalled for into his leaden mind. An image of soft brown orbs looking right at him in disbelief and hurt, sadness and betrayal.
It’s fleeting and lasts only for a few seconds, vanishing into a thin wisp of nothingness as soon as it appears. It feels uncannily like a punch to the gut, a slap in the face, a knife to his constricting chest.
Kris gets the overwhelming urge to scream and cry.
I’m so sorry, Yixing.
-
Every single day, Kris wishes and hopes with all his bruised and battered heart. He prays fervently that some day in the future, he’ll be able to finally let go and be at peace with where he is. Perhaps - maybe, just maybe, that day will come soon enough and he won’t have to live in the past for any longer.
Someday, he’ll be able to hear music and not feel pain. He’ll be able to see his children dance and not feel like dying on the inside.
He will see Yixing’s impish grin on Shixun’s pale stoic face, and hear Yixing’s melodious laughter in Zitao’s high-pitched breathless giggles. He will see Yixing in Liyin’s every action, and the corners of his lips will curl up. He will smile genuinely at the three of them, happiness and a father’s pride burning in his chest. Kris will see his husband in his children without wanting to break down and cry.
One of these days, he’ll smile fondly whenever he thinks of Yixing, all the times they spent together, the memories shared, and the love they had.
He’ll remember the way their legs will always tangle under the blankets; he’ll remember how they made love. He’ll remember all the little stolen kisses in public, and all the passionate fiery kissed behind closed doors. He’ll remember all of that and smile.
Yifan, don’t cry because it’s over. Smile, because it happened. And if it gets too hard to smile for yourself, do it anyway. Do it for me. Smile for me, Yifan. Smile, because I love you.
Someday he’ll be alright again.
One day in the future, but not today.
Today he’ll just curl up alone and cold under the blankets, the image of Yixing looking frail and vulnerable on the hospital bed burned into the back of his eyelids, killing him softly whenever he closes his eyes.
**
- i am a horrible person. the first fanxing i write in months is angst. and my previous fanxing was also angst. whoop s? dont look at me, im horrible u_u
- lmao somewhere along two-thirds of this, the plot (what plot?) sort of went haywire so. hopefully it still makes sense :)
- comment please? feel free to scream at me if you wish o(^^)O
also! come say hello on twitter and/or ask.fm ♥
warning: #HowToGrammar // disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended whatsoever.
summary: i do not need to be happy. i just want to be okay.
a/n: inspired by rl events and this fic i read a long time ago. cant remember the title/author. give me a shout out if you know!
**
someday, one day, not today ;;
Everyday, every single day without fail, he wakes up with a hole in his chest, a tear in his soul, and a question in his head and upon his lips.
Is today the day when I finally get over you?
The answer comes in the thick suffocating silence that surrounds him, the brittle and frigid cold that seeps and bleeds through the pores of his skin - numbing his senses and encasing his heart in an icy tomb.
Didn’t we promise each other that if we ever decide to go our separate ways; we’ll leave and disappear from the other person’s life? Because it’ll be far too painful for either you or me?
He lets his tired eyes fall shut and a sigh escapes him - quiet and heartfelt. Resigned.
So why do I see you in every little thing I do? Why do you insist on haunting my dreams with your soft smile and gentle touch?
He slowly cracks his eyes open when he feels moisture on his cheeks and tastes a hint of salt on the tip of his tongue. His heart constricts painfully in his chest.
Staring up at the sky blue ceiling with that one solitary 4-point star right above him, Kris raises an arm - hand reaching for it. His fingers close around the still and silent air.
Why am I still so hung up on you when you’re gone?
He whispers - voice echoing slightly before a sudden gust of wind flows in through the open windows, bringing it away.
Kris involuntarily shudders, not from the wind but rather from the ice in his bones, the icy shards in his wounded heart.
-
Most of the days, he wakes up alone on a bed he has had for over a decade, a bed that is just a little too big now. Now that he’s all but only one. One, when there used to be two.
One too few than what he’s used to. He shakes his head wearily.
When will I stop holding on and clinging to the memories of the past, the ghosts of yesterdays?
Kris slowly gets up and heads for the bathroom to shave and brush his teeth.
His long fingers gripping and curling over the edge of the cool marble sink, he leans in and murmurs to his bedraggled reflection in the mirror.
When will I start to live again - to learn to breathe without you by my side?
Will I be able to do it? Will I be able to let go?
He isn’t sure what he wants for an answer.
-
And then on certain days, when the loneliness gets just a little too much for him to bear, when he gets so tired of being alone and empty, he allows the sensation of cold helplessness -the bleak hopelessness - to push him past the doors and into the head-pounding music and obnoxiously bright lights of Exotic Exotics!, the club two streets down from Kris’ apartment.
Heading straight for the bar, he sits on one of the high stools and prepares himself for at least an hour of being there. He’s determined to get shitfaced drunk, and nothing will change his mind.
Tipping back his head and downing glass after glass of hard liquor, Kris lets the alcohol burn a fiery trail down his throat.
If there’s some kind of God up there, he thinks blearily - mind heavy with the alcohol-induced haze, make me forget. Even if it’s only for one night or a few measly hours, make me forget.
His plea gets ignored and goes unanswered. Every single time.
Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.
-
The morning afters are the worst.
Not only does he wake up with a splitting headache in addition to the ever-present gaping hole in his heart, more often than not, he finds a naked stranger next to him.
It is then when Kris gets filled with a sense of dread and panic. He’s utterly disgusted and repulsed with himself. He brought this complete stranger into their home, their room, and lets them sleep in their bed.
He’s the worst.
Kris throws up a little in his parched mouth.
A faint image will then float unbidden and uncalled for into his leaden mind. An image of soft brown orbs looking right at him in disbelief and hurt, sadness and betrayal.
It’s fleeting and lasts only for a few seconds, vanishing into a thin wisp of nothingness as soon as it appears. It feels uncannily like a punch to the gut, a slap in the face, a knife to his constricting chest.
Kris gets the overwhelming urge to scream and cry.
I’m so sorry, Yixing.
-
Every single day, Kris wishes and hopes with all his bruised and battered heart. He prays fervently that some day in the future, he’ll be able to finally let go and be at peace with where he is. Perhaps - maybe, just maybe, that day will come soon enough and he won’t have to live in the past for any longer.
Someday, he’ll be able to hear music and not feel pain. He’ll be able to see his children dance and not feel like dying on the inside.
He will see Yixing’s impish grin on Shixun’s pale stoic face, and hear Yixing’s melodious laughter in Zitao’s high-pitched breathless giggles. He will see Yixing in Liyin’s every action, and the corners of his lips will curl up. He will smile genuinely at the three of them, happiness and a father’s pride burning in his chest. Kris will see his husband in his children without wanting to break down and cry.
One of these days, he’ll smile fondly whenever he thinks of Yixing, all the times they spent together, the memories shared, and the love they had.
He’ll remember the way their legs will always tangle under the blankets; he’ll remember how they made love. He’ll remember all the little stolen kisses in public, and all the passionate fiery kissed behind closed doors. He’ll remember all of that and smile.
Yifan, don’t cry because it’s over. Smile, because it happened. And if it gets too hard to smile for yourself, do it anyway. Do it for me. Smile for me, Yifan. Smile, because I love you.
Someday he’ll be alright again.
One day in the future, but not today.
Today he’ll just curl up alone and cold under the blankets, the image of Yixing looking frail and vulnerable on the hospital bed burned into the back of his eyelids, killing him softly whenever he closes his eyes.
**
- i am a horrible person. the first fanxing i write in months is angst. and my previous fanxing was also angst. whoop s? dont look at me, im horrible u_u
- lmao somewhere along two-thirds of this, the plot (what plot?) sort of went haywire so. hopefully it still makes sense :)
- comment please? feel free to scream at me if you wish o(^^)O
also! come say hello on twitter and/or ask.fm ♥