[10] you are (not) mine [nichkhun/wooyoung | nichkhun/junho | junho/chansung]

[verocity]

Fic Title: you are (not) mine
Characters: jang wooyoung, nichkhun horvejkul, lee junho, hwang chansung.
Pairings: nichkhun/wooyoung, nichkhun/junho, junho/chansung
Warnings: Character's death, and my third prompt is vertigo so yeah. oh and this kinda sorta started as a very experimental pastiche-ish work from richard siken's "you are jeff" (which i absolutely love) until it kinda took a detour somewhere. Other things/stuff/persons that i love are 2pm, obviously. and somehow i thought it would be a great idea to mash them together, i plead temporary insanity u_u . so there you go, placing this down in the warning section for everyone beforehand.
Word count: 3865

Prompt 1: "I need your love so badly, I love you oh so madly. But I don't stand a ghost of a chance with you." Frank Sinatra
Prompt 2: http://i58.tinypic.com/116j142.jpg
Prompt 3: Vertigo

1. There are two men in the cafe, sitting across each other, both equally goodlooking, one is taller than the other , or shorter, depending on which men steals your attention at first glance. The taller men is handsome, chocolate colored eyes that soothes souls and mend wings; sun-kissed skin to hold you together and easy smiles to make you feel complete. The shorter one is fairer, is also prettier, small eyes and fuller lips and he’ll ruffle your feathers; he’ll rip you open and make you want more. You can't decide between the two, so don’t pick anyone yet. Your lunch is here, a sandwich croissant and a tall skinny latte. It’s a beautiful day out but the sun is blinding your eyes. Good thing you chose to sit inside. Forget about the good looking men and start your lunch. Do you hear me? Don't pick anyone yet.
   
   
2. There are two men in the cafe, sitting across each other and they're equally good looking. You think the shorter one is called junho. It's written on his coffee cup. you don't have a 20/20 vision but you are wearing your lenses today. Junho is busy tapping on his phone while the taller man, chansung- you read on his nametag, there, golden against bright red on his white marine uniform- my god look who's on a roll today. You are. You feel good about yourself. Where were we?
   
   
3. There are two men in the cafe and Junho is busy tapping his phone while chansung reads his book. They’re not talking. They are not smiling. Their lunch remain untouched. Chansung keeps stealing glances towards junho. Something feels wrong. Maybe they had a fight. Maybe they’re lovers. Maybe they’re married. Maybe their marriage has gone stale. Maybe they’re working it out.Maybe the love is there but the distance and wicked absence has taken its toll and they’re trying to find that first spark which made them fell in love with each other. Maybe they're failing. Neither of them wear wedding rings, your theory is flawed. Remember the rings.
   
   
4. Two men in a cafe , both equally good looking and you are one of them. No, you're not the tall one with the book. You're the shorter one. But your eyes are not small- they are uneven, and your lips aren't as full but you know enough to know they're kissable. Let's' give you a name. Let's call you wooyoung. Let's think that the man sitting in front of you, the one who keeps glancing up his book to steal glimpses of you is named nichkhun. Nothing is wrong. Only that every time nichkhun smiles your heart skips a breathless bit. When he put his book down and stretches his arm to take your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles so gently--your heart jackrabbit against your ribcage. Oh how you love him so. Nichkhun. Love him like sunflowers love the sun, you'll bend any direction to find his face. But you didn't bend. You break.
   
   
5. Your name is wooyoung and there's a good looking man sitting in front of you with easy smile and he knows you like no other. Not the kind of knowledge learned through books but experience, studying places of your body that you yourself never knew, slipping a little of himself in a lot of you, behind your ear and between your little toes, so even when you forget-- you remember. He's there within the gasps of your breath and he's there beside the thump thump of your heart. He has you on the tip of his fingers, your name on the fine whorls of his thumb. His teeth scrapes and nips and nibbles in all the right places, his skin pressing flush on yours, and if he keeps rutting against you that way you know you won't last another minute, you pull against him closer, shuts your eyes and god just a little more and --wait-- Go back.
   
   
6. Your name is wooyoung and there's a good looking man sitting in front of you and he's smiling. You're not smiling back. You're not. Your lips tight. And your jaws set. There's a fire burning in your chest and it's not the good kind of tingling burn you often feel when he’s close -but hey, whatever. It’s not a big deal or anything, this happens, people falls in and out of love every day, wars fought and won, and sometimes-lost. But life goes on, the world’s not ending anytime soon just because yours is. Somewhere somehow someone is falling in love, is always, has always, and you wish it was that simple for you too.
   
   
7. Ask your guardian angel if he could stitch you a perfect love story, one that would last a life time, or just one that would last. Arrange it carefully like flowers crowning your head, stem wire of romance teeming with an assortment of brightly hued blooms. No sunflowers darling, you've had your fill of tears and bends and breaks. Try peonies and daisies, baby’s breath and stephanotics, or a rose, it fits your complexion.
   
   You glance towards the golden band on his ring finger, a golden band that is absent from your own finger, you see the way it catches the sun and--like a headlight does it shine as you wide eyed welcomed the crashing reality. Something is breaking, you can feel it. Is it your pride? Is it your heart? Does it matter? The truth is only brutal when you refuse to accept it.
   
   
8. There are two men in the cafe and one of them is taller, or shorter, depending on which men steals your attention at first glance. And for a frail moment between two heartbeats it could have been perfect. It could've been everything-I will love and cherish you, I will stay with you through the thick and thin, your hand in mine and my life in yours--, But nichkhun can’t give wooyoung the one thing he want the most. My name is wooyoung and I’m tired of standing in the shadows. My name is wooyoung and I can’t-for the love of god, be your secret love anymore. Grow a fucking backbone and make your choice nichkhun, because I’m done, you hear me? I’m done. He loves him so, but this love has torn and shred him to pieces. He loves him so and he fucking hates himself for it.
   
   
9. Let’s say life has a plan and she has sewn an intricate lining along the pattern of what may have been. She has done half of it only to realize she’s using the wrong threads. What is she to do now? She doesn't want to continue it, but she can’t be bothered to redo it. A little overlap wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?
   
   Let’s say death has his eyes on two men, the first is wooyoung, and the second junho. Wooyoung despairs whenever morning comes, and junho agonizes every time the night hides the sun; both holding different ends of the same line. And as they sit on the edge of their own beds, you can tell that they are thinking about life, and they know all there is to know about hurt.
   
   
10. You are in a simple suburban house in south california and you’re looking down. You’re soaring high, flip flops forgotten on the ground, the wind whooshing on your ear and caressing your forehead. You are eight, and not even gravity can pull you down when you’re eight. You swing your knees back to gain momentum and you push yourself forward and up up up where the clear blue sky embraces you. Your mother is calling, white apron and smelling like cinnamon and coffee and home. Come off that swing and eat your lunch, Khunnie. Why do you like the swing so much?-- You don’t. You just like to fly, but you didn't tell her that.
    
    
11. They come in flashes, desperate, unmerciful flashes. You’re in the sky again, but you’re not soaring high this time, you’re spiraling down. You are always the stronger one so it’s no surprise that you keep your eyes open, you’re facing it like a man, but maybe you’re not as brave as you want yourself to be, not right now, not when the left engine fails you right after the right one, and the compass is doing a shitty job on keeping you posted when it’s gyrating madly. You try to make a turn, jamming the right rudder pedal into the floor plate because hell if you’re going down without a fight. You want to laugh at the pun, but your life is flashing before your eyes.
    
    
12. Remember the rings. Remember the gleam as the sun hits the gold, like limelight embracing the hero standing at the front of the stage. You were having lunch, stealing precious time, people at work think you’re home, people at home think you’re working. You’re nowhere. You’re nowhere and also, you’re everywhere. In between. Who do you love, nichkhun? Who do you love? You’re coming here to steal time with the one you adore the most, yet a part of you misses the one waiting for you at home. You lower your book and reaches up for his hand, and when you smile, he smiles. God, he’s so beautiful your breath catches at the sight. Somewhere in your head a litany of praises rises for your lover, voices you have given up trying to ignore. You never meant it to be this way. Never wanted to hurt anyone but god, he’s so beautiful. Remember the ring. Remember the gleam as the sun hits the gold. Well the hero has played his part. Stepping away. The curtains closing. Who do you love, nichkhun?
    
    It’s a question, each touch, each kiss, each brush of your fingertips gentle against the curve of his spine, now turning, twisting-no, spiraling. You’re in the sky again; gravity is pulling you to the ground. And this time, you are not eight anymore.
    
    
13. Suppose for a moment that the heart holds two breaths, that the heart has tried to keep one and release the other, or release one and keep the other. A part of the heart shouted love! And the other part whispers, faithfulness. And it’s an endless struggle, the red lines of fate twining tangling more than it should’ve let go. Can the heart decide? Can the heart choose? It doesn’t matter, you’re spiraling down from the sky and it doesn't look like you can escape any minute now.
    
    Suppose we’re standing on a train station, and this one train arrives sooner than you expected. It’s okay, get on it and get going, we say. What was it that you needed to do? You can’t remember. Close the window and enjoy your journey nichkhun, we give our goodbyes.
    
    
14. This time it’s a bedroom,--No, a kitchen. You’re leaning on the stark white cabinet thinking where did it gone wrong. You were happy, you’d like to think that you are; and then one day-you’re not. And then one day, you’re in your kitchen leaning on your cabinet thinking it’s over, but you can’t feel anything. No condolences for a love that had been won, and lost. There‘s a row of aromatic candles you and your husband bought on your honeymoon together. Ahh, paris, c’est la vie. You remember his laugh that day, the smile on his face, the love that hit you harder than a freight train. And he loves you back; he really does, until he doesn't.
    
    
15. After work you decide to cook for dinner, you grab some eggs, bacon and milk at the store. You’re wondering how a thai omelet would fit that leftover stew and galbi at home, but nichkhun likes them, it reminds him of his mum, he told you once, so it will be fine. The problem is, you’re standing in front dozens of eggs with different labels, regular, organic, organic vegetarian, antibiotic free, omega 3 enriched, free range. The organic ones are $4.55/dozen and you know it’s a bargain. The omega 3 enriched costs more but is healthier, and while you know what each label means, you still find it hard to decide which to get. You’ve been standing and staring at the eggs for a full five minutes when you realize nichkhun won’t be coming home tonight, at least not to you.
    
    
16. Today, tomorrow, forever. He said that as an everlasting promise, slipping a golden ring that fits perfectly on your finger. I love you, he whispered as he kissed you, and you believed him then. I love you, he whispers to you this morning-- in a kiss, and the words tastes strange in your mouth. Like a lie you both knew is a lie but choose to believe as the truth. Like a lie you have to hold on to because you don’t know what to do with the truth. Your life used to start so perfectly. This is where your life starts. He loves you. He loves you. You’re going to live happily ever after because he loves you, or so you thought. And your life is perfect, until it’s not. But it’s okay, nothing is ever perfect anyway, so it’s okay .
    
    Pick up your spear, your shield and your armor and march on to the field, you’re no war hero but you can stand your ground, this much you know. Walk to the open and find yourself once more. Run towards it Junho, run. The dog days are over, the dog days are done. Shake your shackles off and go out to the world, brave and daring because baby, all you need is you and you know that. You whistle, and it's a brand new song. Even old dogs can learn new tricks. "Junho?" he calls you. Your husband. Tired and smiling and smelling like a cologne you never knew. "Did you miss me?" and you laugh. You never needed anyone. But we know that's also a lie.
    
    
17. You and your bestfriend are making out on the backseat of his car. The air is hot and the windows are steaming and there’s barely any room for you to move your legs but his breath falls on that small dip between your collarbones, warm and damp and heavy with something you don’t have the words to name right now. If he was wearing a shirt you’d grip it to tug him up to you, but he isn't so you place your palm on his cheek instead, fingers gentle against the skin you've tasted a while ago and when he look up--, when he looks up, the weight of what you find in his eyes makes you shiver, makes you squirm under your own skin and you heart stops beating for a moment. There’s a lump in your throat from wanting to let him know, whisper this secret that is not a secret anymore, but not now, not yet, and you swallow the words back, tucking them safely into the hidden chambers of your heart. When he climbs up to kiss you, lips soft and sweet and the press of his fingers on your naked hip is slowly driving you to the edge, the last thing you want is to remember about the rings.
    
    
18. Two men sitting across their partners in a cafe, two men having what seemingly a casual lunch in a mundane afternoon in the middle of unknowing crowd. Two men with two stories and two ways of how a heart could break now standing face to face to each other, realizing for the first time just how similar they are. Close your eyes for a moment and picture in your head a painting of perfect love stories, choose the colors, the shade, the hue, the way the brush stroke against the canvas and then breathe out, breathe out and open your eyes. he’s looking back at you, he’s looking back with the same longing, the same hurt, the same pain, and in his hand he’s holding your painting, only that it’s his.
    
    
19. Two men sitting across each other and it could have been perfect. But we’ve been there before so let’s not do this again. Let’s not hope for perfection, let’s not think that it exist the same way we don’t really think that love actually conquers all, not without casualties, at least not without complications. You want perfect? You don’t get perfect. You get two men. You get junho and you get wooyoung. Junho is sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for his cheating husband to come home, while wooyoung dreads the moment his lover is going to leave him again. This is how a heart gets broken, you take a man who loves you, says he loves you, smiles like he loves you, kisses like he loves you, yet he keeps coming back to someone else that’s not you. Now it’s time to take your pick, time to make the choice. Junho or wooyoung, the husband or the lover, who will it be?
    
    
20. Here are your keys and here is your jacket he went home with when it was raining and here are other things he didn’t realize he brought home with him but he did. The smell of your cologne on the fabric of his shirt, the champagne stain on his trouser, the faint crinkle on the corner of his eyes that says he laughed a lot when he was with you. Here is your book about interior design; he spent two weeks on that before renovating the living room. Here is your picture which he slips under mine, and here is the love you have for him over the years. But not his ring, Wooyoung. Not his ring. He’s not yours, he will never be yours. and just for kicks? He’s not mine either.
    
    
21. There are two men in a cafe but they are not in a cafe, they’re in a funeral sending off the man they both love and hate just the same. Everyone is wearing black and you can’t help but feel like this is the end. Let’s take a break. Let’s go to the beginning. Let’s go to your old classroom where you see him so handsome in perfectly fitted uniform while your heart is thump thump thump-ing real fast when he comes near. He doesn't have a ring yet, hasn't met the person the other ring belongs to. Don’t it make you wish you have done things differently, and maybe things would be different now? If only you confesses to him sooner. Stop. Take a deep breath and release it slowly. Get out from the classroom, wooyoung. Get out. What are you doing in a classroom? Don’t you know the love of your life just died? This is his funeral you’re attending. Ah now you’re crying.
    
    
22. You are in a funeral with three other men. Two of them you have grown resigned to, but the one standing across keep looking at you-your face, your mouth, your hand-he’s seeking for something and right now, right now all you want is just to give it, --give in, surrender everything and come crumbling in the space between his fingers. But he understands, and you take comfort in that, treasures it like the promise of warmth you find in his eyes, the next breath you take only hitches slightly in your chest. They all have sadness in their eyes when you glance towards them, but it’s different on each man. On one it looks, well-it looks dead. On the other it looks miserably agonizing. On the man across you it looks like patience, braided gently over reassurance and on yours, it looks a whole lot like deliverance.
    
    
23. You are in a funeral with three other men. One is your husband, one is his lover, and the other one is your childhood buddy. All of them have seen you crying with a wedding ring on your fisted palm. Your childhood buddy moves closer and touches your arm, fingertips soft on the inside of your wrist, come with me now, you’re free, he whispers. To them he’s your best friend, but to you he’s-well, you haven’t had that talk with yourself yet. Junho, it’s time to deliver your eulogy, someone else says. It’s something you never dreamt to hear, really, for all the things you had imagined happening, you’re in love, you realize that now, but not with the husband lying dead on the coffin in front of you.
    
    
24. Let’s say life happens and separates two hearts and death happens and separates two hearts. Here, you can be all of them : the cheating husband, the lover, the betrayed spouse, the best friend, are all sitting to have lunch in a cafe. Two of them are lovers and two of them have wedding bands on their ring finger, all of them are in love with one another one way or the other. Come sit down. Try to understand. You’re looking at his face at his heart at his eyes looking back at you like mirrors.
    
    
25. There are two man in the cafe, sitting across each other, both equally goodlooking, one is taller than the other , or shorter, depending on which men steals your attention at first glance. The shorter one is called junho and the taller one is Chansung. You don’t need coffee cup scribbling or nametags to know them because you know them. You know who you'd pick right off the bat, you'd pick the one who had the ring. because having the ring means having nichkh--, no. You’ve promised yourself. Let’s not go through the pain again. It’s been years, long gone and passed. It’s water under the bridge. You’ve moved on. You’re moving on. Your lunch break is over. You wipe your mouth and clean your table and stand up to go back to your office. Those monthly reports are not going to write themselves.
    
    
26. You’re having lunch in a cafe with a beautiful man, and he has told you that he loves you. And right now you feel like you’ve done something horrible, like burned down your house and the entire neighborhood with it, or robbed a grocery store, or cheat important exams and you’re nervous, you’re nervous and a little scared. You’re having lunch in a cafe with a beautiful man, who is also your best friend, and you won’t tell him that you love him, but you love him, the laughter in his eyes and the color of his soul. You feel like stomping this fire down, keep it behind the friendship fence but then he lowers his book and reaches over. And when he reaches over he touches your hand and your heart comes alive like a song like poetry like puzzles unraveling like it’s something real and solid and you shiver, finally finding the words to name what you’ve discovered long before. So maybe you’ll be brave this time. Maybe you’ll let him know. And for the first time since a long while, you let yourself smile.