d-d-dancing shoes!
>> three cheers to remembrance.
>> dongwoon+kikwang.
>> gen.
>> this is not real okay.
>> sometimes, kikwang sits in the dance studio at three in the morning. (542words).
>> for KWANG'S BIRTHDAY. OH GOOBER, YOU'RE PRECIOUS ALWAYS. ♥ it's kinda short and wtf but it's been sloshing around in my brain for a while. i'm sorry? >_>
edit: added a length of paragraph and a snap of actual post-it because i'm a creeper like that.
>> comments are appreciated and loved for infinity!
{three cheers to remembrance}
Sometimes, Kikwang sits in the dance studio at three in the morning and threads words with memories, the soft hums at the back of his head. He doesn’t switch on the light, stares at the mirror and thinks his reflection stares back at him with lips curling something secretive because this is his skeleton key, isn’t made for limelight and flashes of too bright curiosity and maybe the world will eventually forget he exists. He traces disjointed melodies into the curves of his body, bends overworked muscles with suicidal ease and he’s a mannequin triggered to please and self-destruct.
If he’s meant to be yesteryear’s news the day after tomorrow - world moving in cruel supersonic speed - he wants to count each second in the language of eternity.
♠
Dongwoon finds Kikwang most nights. It’s ridiculous and inconvenient because their schedule gets crazy and Dongwoon likes curling up in his bed if given the chance, instead of playing Alice and following whispers down deserted hallways.
But Kikwang sits in the dark, smiles at Dongwoon when the door nudges open (guilty, a little bit cracked around the edges) and Dongwoon thinks maybe this is okay too.
He folds long legs and leans against Kikwang, wraps both of them in blankets he drags from his own bed, fluffy clouds shimmer bone-white wrapped in shadows. They breathe in the proximity and Kikwang fingerspells nuisances into the palm of Dongwoon’s hand, repetitive hieroglyphics night after night until Dongwoon closes his fingers around Kikwang’s.
Dongwoon wants to tell Kikwang he understands but he doesn’t, not really so he settles on a light squeeze meant to comfort.
If Kikwang looks crestfallen, slips his fingers away, Dongwoon tells himself it’s okay.
It’s okay.
♠
Kikwang wakes up to a post-it note on his wardrobe mirror, creased from eraser scrubs and carefully written, re-written words.
When Yoseob, Doojoon, Dongwoon and Junhyung carol birthday songs during practice and Hyunseung sneaks gift cards into Kikwang’s sneakers, he laughs, cries and wraps his arms around each of them. The candles glow soft and warm over the angles of their faces and Kikwang counts strawberries and peach slices in between inhales.
He's twenty-one.
He wonders when his bones will start creaking, crumbling until he can no longer perform dance steps. It won't be long now.
They smother his face with a slice of lemon cheesecake when he's not looking and his eyes sting a little, enough to tear up again even as Doojoon carefully tissued him clean (more salty tears than vanilla frostings), murmurs congratulations and we love yous. Kikwang licks bitter sweetness from the corner of his mouth and he watches Dongwoon watches him, smile slow and gentle.
♠
He fingerspells thank yous to Dongwoon in the privacy of darkness and silence, feels the reciprocal curl of lips against the crook of his neck.
♠
Sometimes Kikwang sits in the dance studio at three in the morning and threads words with memories, the soft hums at the back of his head. He doesn't switch on the light but he can still read faded ink on neon-coloured paper, remembers them like his own name. As easy as breathing.
Kikwang looks up when the door slides open and smiles.
{END}
>> dongwoon+kikwang.
>> gen.
>> this is not real okay.
>> sometimes, kikwang sits in the dance studio at three in the morning. (542words).
>> for KWANG'S BIRTHDAY. OH GOOBER, YOU'RE PRECIOUS ALWAYS. ♥ it's kinda short and wtf but it's been sloshing around in my brain for a while. i'm sorry? >_>
edit: added a length of paragraph and a snap of actual post-it because i'm a creeper like that.
>> comments are appreciated and loved for infinity!
{three cheers to remembrance}
Sometimes, Kikwang sits in the dance studio at three in the morning and threads words with memories, the soft hums at the back of his head. He doesn’t switch on the light, stares at the mirror and thinks his reflection stares back at him with lips curling something secretive because this is his skeleton key, isn’t made for limelight and flashes of too bright curiosity and maybe the world will eventually forget he exists. He traces disjointed melodies into the curves of his body, bends overworked muscles with suicidal ease and he’s a mannequin triggered to please and self-destruct.
If he’s meant to be yesteryear’s news the day after tomorrow - world moving in cruel supersonic speed - he wants to count each second in the language of eternity.
♠
Dongwoon finds Kikwang most nights. It’s ridiculous and inconvenient because their schedule gets crazy and Dongwoon likes curling up in his bed if given the chance, instead of playing Alice and following whispers down deserted hallways.
But Kikwang sits in the dark, smiles at Dongwoon when the door nudges open (guilty, a little bit cracked around the edges) and Dongwoon thinks maybe this is okay too.
He folds long legs and leans against Kikwang, wraps both of them in blankets he drags from his own bed, fluffy clouds shimmer bone-white wrapped in shadows. They breathe in the proximity and Kikwang fingerspells nuisances into the palm of Dongwoon’s hand, repetitive hieroglyphics night after night until Dongwoon closes his fingers around Kikwang’s.
Dongwoon wants to tell Kikwang he understands but he doesn’t, not really so he settles on a light squeeze meant to comfort.
If Kikwang looks crestfallen, slips his fingers away, Dongwoon tells himself it’s okay.
It’s okay.
♠
Kikwang wakes up to a post-it note on his wardrobe mirror, creased from eraser scrubs and carefully written, re-written words.
When Yoseob, Doojoon, Dongwoon and Junhyung carol birthday songs during practice and Hyunseung sneaks gift cards into Kikwang’s sneakers, he laughs, cries and wraps his arms around each of them. The candles glow soft and warm over the angles of their faces and Kikwang counts strawberries and peach slices in between inhales.
He's twenty-one.
He wonders when his bones will start creaking, crumbling until he can no longer perform dance steps. It won't be long now.
They smother his face with a slice of lemon cheesecake when he's not looking and his eyes sting a little, enough to tear up again even as Doojoon carefully tissued him clean (more salty tears than vanilla frostings), murmurs congratulations and we love yous. Kikwang licks bitter sweetness from the corner of his mouth and he watches Dongwoon watches him, smile slow and gentle.
♠
He fingerspells thank yous to Dongwoon in the privacy of darkness and silence, feels the reciprocal curl of lips against the crook of his neck.
♠
Sometimes Kikwang sits in the dance studio at three in the morning and threads words with memories, the soft hums at the back of his head. He doesn't switch on the light but he can still read faded ink on neon-coloured paper, remembers them like his own name. As easy as breathing.
Kikwang looks up when the door slides open and smiles.
{END}