ss501; drabbles; hyunjoong/kyujong, jungmin/kyujong.
trying to remember that writing is a thing and that i can kind of do it a little bit.
ss501; to dust
jungmin/kyujong, g; 300 words; dust by robert brooke.
In their death, they danced between the river fronds and skipped over mountains, twisting and turning in a way they never could in life, fingers catching and pulling each other close. Jungmin’s laugh tinkled as clear and loud as the tremor of bells at Christmastime and held on with slow fingers that took their time as they thread them together and kissed him down to the core of atoms. Their electrons tingled with a hum that translated to a warmth like the sun-burnt earth in Egypt. They dashed through the desert, whisked this way and that by sandstorms, spreading the circumference of the globe and back again.
The wind in Kyujong’s hair made sunlight burst in Jungmin’s chest, and he held him close and they rolled together in a meadow full of wildflowers, the expanse of the stars high above them and the earth rotating beneath them. They could feel it, every shifting of every plate and the birth and death of every star - and when they kissed once, there, limbs tangled together and holding each other like only the dead could, he gave in with a quiet laugh that silenced everything in the entire universe.
Let’s move on, Kyujong said, fingers laced with Jungmin’s, warm and caressing, eyes reflecting the light of the stars. Jungmin wasn’t ready to move on, wanted to cross the world five-hundred-and-one more times, but Kyujong squeezed his hand and lifted his fingers to brush them with his lips, and Jungmin nodded.
We have a lot more to see, anyway, Kyujong said, and they squeezed their hands until they turned to dust, sparkling in a sunrise that happened on the other side of the world, rising against the ice caps and bursting the world in a myriad of colors that reflected none of the greatness that Jungmin felt in his heart.
ss501; acceptance
hyunjoong/kyujong, g; 400 words; acceptance by langston hughes.
The door is smooth under Hyunjoong’s fingertips as he drums them against the surface and waits for his heart to dislodge itself from his throat so he can gain the strength to open the door. It takes five seconds less than infinity, and finally he touches the cold metal of the door and walks inside the room he shared with Kyujong.
Kyujong’s sleeping, but he shifts when he opens the light. Hyunjoong just has to stand there, in the middle of the room and look down at him to wake him up. Kyujong has an internal beeper that tells him to wake up and it’s directly linked to Hyunjoong’s heart. It’s just one of the things that makes it so easy to, well.
“Hi,” he says, when Kyujong opens a bleary brown eye and blinks at him, face swollen and kind of pale from lack of sleep. “Hi, I should have told you this a million years ago.” The bed shifts under his weight as he creeps over to him and cups his face with one hand. Kyujong’s cheek is warm and smooth and he traces sleeplines with a fingernail.
Kyujong doesn’t ask what he’s doing. Instead he just lays there, like he’s still half asleep and might actually be, and lets him lean in and mold their lips together. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, and he’s careful to keep it slow to keep it in time with Kyujong’s sleep befuddled mind. His lips are soft, his mouth tastes like toothpaste and the mouthwash he uses at night and maybe even something sweeter. Kyujong works his mouth against his and might have been saying something, but Hyunjoong can’t hear past the whirl of darkness and the fading edges of his vision.
He spins upwards, his vision stretches and squishes at once, and he suddenly knows what it’s like to be in a fourth dimension, and then he wakes up in his bed, his own bed, small and not fit for two and squishes against a wall with the humidifier humming in the corner.
“Huh,” he murmurs, stretching his arm out towards the empty side of the bed and hits the wall where he thought Kyujong was. Where Kyujong could have been.
“Huh.” His alarm goes off and he wriggles his phone out from under his pillow to turn it off, gets out of bed and touches his feet to a cold floor, and starts another day.
ss501; to dust
jungmin/kyujong, g; 300 words; dust by robert brooke.
In their death, they danced between the river fronds and skipped over mountains, twisting and turning in a way they never could in life, fingers catching and pulling each other close. Jungmin’s laugh tinkled as clear and loud as the tremor of bells at Christmastime and held on with slow fingers that took their time as they thread them together and kissed him down to the core of atoms. Their electrons tingled with a hum that translated to a warmth like the sun-burnt earth in Egypt. They dashed through the desert, whisked this way and that by sandstorms, spreading the circumference of the globe and back again.
The wind in Kyujong’s hair made sunlight burst in Jungmin’s chest, and he held him close and they rolled together in a meadow full of wildflowers, the expanse of the stars high above them and the earth rotating beneath them. They could feel it, every shifting of every plate and the birth and death of every star - and when they kissed once, there, limbs tangled together and holding each other like only the dead could, he gave in with a quiet laugh that silenced everything in the entire universe.
Let’s move on, Kyujong said, fingers laced with Jungmin’s, warm and caressing, eyes reflecting the light of the stars. Jungmin wasn’t ready to move on, wanted to cross the world five-hundred-and-one more times, but Kyujong squeezed his hand and lifted his fingers to brush them with his lips, and Jungmin nodded.
We have a lot more to see, anyway, Kyujong said, and they squeezed their hands until they turned to dust, sparkling in a sunrise that happened on the other side of the world, rising against the ice caps and bursting the world in a myriad of colors that reflected none of the greatness that Jungmin felt in his heart.
ss501; acceptance
hyunjoong/kyujong, g; 400 words; acceptance by langston hughes.
The door is smooth under Hyunjoong’s fingertips as he drums them against the surface and waits for his heart to dislodge itself from his throat so he can gain the strength to open the door. It takes five seconds less than infinity, and finally he touches the cold metal of the door and walks inside the room he shared with Kyujong.
Kyujong’s sleeping, but he shifts when he opens the light. Hyunjoong just has to stand there, in the middle of the room and look down at him to wake him up. Kyujong has an internal beeper that tells him to wake up and it’s directly linked to Hyunjoong’s heart. It’s just one of the things that makes it so easy to, well.
“Hi,” he says, when Kyujong opens a bleary brown eye and blinks at him, face swollen and kind of pale from lack of sleep. “Hi, I should have told you this a million years ago.” The bed shifts under his weight as he creeps over to him and cups his face with one hand. Kyujong’s cheek is warm and smooth and he traces sleeplines with a fingernail.
Kyujong doesn’t ask what he’s doing. Instead he just lays there, like he’s still half asleep and might actually be, and lets him lean in and mold their lips together. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, and he’s careful to keep it slow to keep it in time with Kyujong’s sleep befuddled mind. His lips are soft, his mouth tastes like toothpaste and the mouthwash he uses at night and maybe even something sweeter. Kyujong works his mouth against his and might have been saying something, but Hyunjoong can’t hear past the whirl of darkness and the fading edges of his vision.
He spins upwards, his vision stretches and squishes at once, and he suddenly knows what it’s like to be in a fourth dimension, and then he wakes up in his bed, his own bed, small and not fit for two and squishes against a wall with the humidifier humming in the corner.
“Huh,” he murmurs, stretching his arm out towards the empty side of the bed and hits the wall where he thought Kyujong was. Where Kyujong could have been.
“Huh.” His alarm goes off and he wriggles his phone out from under his pillow to turn it off, gets out of bed and touches his feet to a cold floor, and starts another day.