letting go of burnt-out rockets. (challenge #1: my love overflows just like rainwater) pg.
letting go of burnt-out rockets.
896. pg.
- ambiguous kibum/donghae.
author inhyeong.
summary his words have always had a knack of coming true.
notes second person, no caps!, ambiguous, lack of names, donghae-goes-crazy?, not very edited, wannabe ~*stream-of-thought*~ also, first post~? nice. ♥
disclaimer super junior? not mine. ♥
i. he is impulsive, and selfish, and childish, and vain, and you're not sure why you love him. or why you'd always smile when he does those stupidly funny things because-because it's stupidly funny. it has no substance. like, "did you know that i've always wanted to dye my hair purple?" but that's a lie. it's a lie.
so you think to yourself, it doesn't really matter anyways-bitterly-because he'll end up leaving me in the end.
-
ii. it's when you find him sitting on his bed staring blankly at the wall that you start to worry a little. the cream-colored curtain is torn off six of its rings, the pillows are scattered all over the room, the down comforter you sent him last spring after being tired of him complaining about the cold was not there. is this a dream? you think to yourself. is this a dream?
"what do you think i did wrong?" he says softly, slowly, sadly, lapsing back into his more comfortable accent, and you are stunned into silence. the words just won't come out, no matter how hard you try, stuck somewhere down your throat.
he looks up, like a child would, searching for the presence of a sun-but not at you, never at you; he's always looking for a piece of sky to call his own.
-
iii. "it's not because i'm scared," he says, so quietly that you have to bend down right next to his ear to hear him, feeling his shallow, quirky breaths, just like his personality-but you're so used to it that it doesn't matter anymore; "it's just because i don't wanna face the future anymore. what's the point? it's always gonna be the same. it's always gonna be me, you, them, the world. it's not gonna change."
"no no no," you assure him, fleeing away from his side, hand gestures all over the place. he is skeptical. you'll fix that. "no no no. no. don't say that. don't you ever say that. you've got talent. you've got luck. you've got me. we'll make it through together. you'll see."
and that's a lie, too. this whole relationship from the start has been one big lie. only because you know him. you've uncovered him, and that makes you so secretly, painfully excited to know. playing private eye. he acts so carefree and cute and funny in front of everybody but you; with you he is real (and he is so very painfully real that you are almost always afraid to touch him too roughly), harsh, critical, bad-tempered, like everyone's done him wrong.
no no no, you want to say. you know what you would do-you'd hold him and murmur that it'll be okay. that life as you know it will be okay. my love for you is an ocean, you want to say. oceans, and oceans, and oceans. always spilling out.
you love him, you really do. underneath those onion layers, those façades, those different people hiding who he really is. you'll take him to that town; show him the sights, sounds, feelings, tastes of tongues-on-tongues that are so desperate for something, anything to happen-just wait, just wait.
-
iv. "i've missed you," you say gently, but you know he won't snap out of his trance of snap snap tear.
"i think you should stop," you say. a motherly tone: "do you know how much those curtains cost? sure they weren't from your paycheck, because it was way beyond it."
his head low, his hands irritated, the sound of ripping fabric thundering in the empty house.
sometimes you wonder where all that laughter went.
-
v. he says he doesn't remember. you don't mind, actually; you'd rather forget that kind of thing-stupid love proposals, stupid sappy poetry, stupid childish promises. that doesn't get you, the fact that he doesn't bother trying to remember all your time wasted on him. it's just that there was a time in which your love for him (if it was water in a bottle) would've refused to be capped.
he says this in the car while it's raining, raining, pounding hard on the windows. you can barely see anything but the grey fog outside, but that's okay because he can't see anything either. figuratively, literally. you're a little afraid that you'll crash and it'll be ugly, but that's okay because you don't really see the point in trying to save him any longer. you should've left him for the doctors, waiting for the isolation to eat him up inside.
he says, "how did i ever end up falling in love with you?" without that bitter edge he uses when he is upset with fans, when he is annoyed at a hyung, when he is tired of life and living and wants to retreat into his own corner of his world and you just won't let him.
your grip tightens. you say, soft enough so he won't hear it, "i'm sorry."
he says, "let's go to that town."
you say, "i'm sorry."
he says, "did you know that i've always wanted to dye my hair purple?"
you say, "i'm sorry."
he says, "oh, i love this song," and reaches over to turn the volume of the radio up to cover up all the hopes, all the dreams, all the love, all the sadness, and that's just how it ends.
896. pg.
- ambiguous kibum/donghae.
author inhyeong.
summary his words have always had a knack of coming true.
notes second person, no caps!, ambiguous, lack of names, donghae-goes-crazy?, not very edited, wannabe ~*stream-of-thought*~ also, first post~? nice. ♥
disclaimer super junior? not mine. ♥
i. he is impulsive, and selfish, and childish, and vain, and you're not sure why you love him. or why you'd always smile when he does those stupidly funny things because-because it's stupidly funny. it has no substance. like, "did you know that i've always wanted to dye my hair purple?" but that's a lie. it's a lie.
so you think to yourself, it doesn't really matter anyways-bitterly-because he'll end up leaving me in the end.
-
ii. it's when you find him sitting on his bed staring blankly at the wall that you start to worry a little. the cream-colored curtain is torn off six of its rings, the pillows are scattered all over the room, the down comforter you sent him last spring after being tired of him complaining about the cold was not there. is this a dream? you think to yourself. is this a dream?
"what do you think i did wrong?" he says softly, slowly, sadly, lapsing back into his more comfortable accent, and you are stunned into silence. the words just won't come out, no matter how hard you try, stuck somewhere down your throat.
he looks up, like a child would, searching for the presence of a sun-but not at you, never at you; he's always looking for a piece of sky to call his own.
-
iii. "it's not because i'm scared," he says, so quietly that you have to bend down right next to his ear to hear him, feeling his shallow, quirky breaths, just like his personality-but you're so used to it that it doesn't matter anymore; "it's just because i don't wanna face the future anymore. what's the point? it's always gonna be the same. it's always gonna be me, you, them, the world. it's not gonna change."
"no no no," you assure him, fleeing away from his side, hand gestures all over the place. he is skeptical. you'll fix that. "no no no. no. don't say that. don't you ever say that. you've got talent. you've got luck. you've got me. we'll make it through together. you'll see."
and that's a lie, too. this whole relationship from the start has been one big lie. only because you know him. you've uncovered him, and that makes you so secretly, painfully excited to know. playing private eye. he acts so carefree and cute and funny in front of everybody but you; with you he is real (and he is so very painfully real that you are almost always afraid to touch him too roughly), harsh, critical, bad-tempered, like everyone's done him wrong.
no no no, you want to say. you know what you would do-you'd hold him and murmur that it'll be okay. that life as you know it will be okay. my love for you is an ocean, you want to say. oceans, and oceans, and oceans. always spilling out.
you love him, you really do. underneath those onion layers, those façades, those different people hiding who he really is. you'll take him to that town; show him the sights, sounds, feelings, tastes of tongues-on-tongues that are so desperate for something, anything to happen-just wait, just wait.
-
iv. "i've missed you," you say gently, but you know he won't snap out of his trance of snap snap tear.
"i think you should stop," you say. a motherly tone: "do you know how much those curtains cost? sure they weren't from your paycheck, because it was way beyond it."
his head low, his hands irritated, the sound of ripping fabric thundering in the empty house.
sometimes you wonder where all that laughter went.
-
v. he says he doesn't remember. you don't mind, actually; you'd rather forget that kind of thing-stupid love proposals, stupid sappy poetry, stupid childish promises. that doesn't get you, the fact that he doesn't bother trying to remember all your time wasted on him. it's just that there was a time in which your love for him (if it was water in a bottle) would've refused to be capped.
he says this in the car while it's raining, raining, pounding hard on the windows. you can barely see anything but the grey fog outside, but that's okay because he can't see anything either. figuratively, literally. you're a little afraid that you'll crash and it'll be ugly, but that's okay because you don't really see the point in trying to save him any longer. you should've left him for the doctors, waiting for the isolation to eat him up inside.
he says, "how did i ever end up falling in love with you?" without that bitter edge he uses when he is upset with fans, when he is annoyed at a hyung, when he is tired of life and living and wants to retreat into his own corner of his world and you just won't let him.
your grip tightens. you say, soft enough so he won't hear it, "i'm sorry."
he says, "let's go to that town."
you say, "i'm sorry."
he says, "did you know that i've always wanted to dye my hair purple?"
you say, "i'm sorry."
he says, "oh, i love this song," and reaches over to turn the volume of the radio up to cover up all the hopes, all the dreams, all the love, all the sadness, and that's just how it ends.