[exo] january
january
inspired by Tchaikovsky's January from The Seasons
selu
angst
Janvier (January): Au coin du feu (At the Fireside)
A little corner of peaceful bliss,
the night dressed in twilight;
the little fire is dying in the fireplace,
and the candle has burned out.
(Alexander Pushkin)
Luhan sets his coat on the stand by the door and makes his way to where Sehun is, eyes closed and arms wrapped around himself, leaning awkwardly on the armrest of the couch. Sehun rarely leaves the couch nowadays. Luhan had hired a caregiver for him for when he was at work, to ensure that he would be safe at home.
“Hey,” Luhan sits on the armrest and places his hand on Sehun’s cheek, “How’ve you been today?”
Sehun nuzzles Luhan’s side and buries his head between Luhan and the couch, “Bored. Couldn’t make it past ten minutes of television.”
Luhan smiles lightly. Despite all his grit and willpower, Sehun is really just a kid. He’s the type of kid who would complain about teachers and skip school, but when on vacation, he’d complain about being bored and wasting time away, slouching in front of the computer at home. He used to whine about school a lot to Luhan, and Luhan would pat his face in mock annoyance and say, “Stop pouting, Sehun, or you’re gonna have to go to school tomorrow with swollen lips.”
Sehun has late-onset Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). ALS is a neuron disorder that causes muscle weakness and atrophy due to the degeneration of motor neurons. His doctor had said that he may one day lose the ability to initiate and control all voluntary movement, and Luhan had punched Sehun when he joked, “Hey, then I might pee on you next time.”
It’s funny how scientific research goes way back into the prehistoric times, but no doctor could find an explanation for Sehun’s ALS. Sehun definitely does not have any diseased family member, nor does he have a defect in chromosome number twenty-one. Luhan had spent afternoons in his office poring over research journals, weekends in university libraries scanning through indexes of thick, heavy books, those that you’d think contain a simple explanation of ALS, but he has found nothing. Most wrote it off as ‘there is no known cause of sporadic ALS.’ Yup, that helps a whole lot.
Sehun told him it didn’t matter. The cause didn’t matter. What matters is how they deal with it. Luhan had looked at him in disbelief and went, “It doesn’t matter? How am I going to deal with this if I don’t even understand why this happened to you? Why you, of all people? You haven’t done anything wrong,” Luhan slowed down, “Why not me?”
Sehun had had to wipe tears away from Luhan’s face so many times since he was diagnosed, but he never let himself cry. Sehun did not cry when he tripped over himself walking towards Luhan; Sehun did not cry when he couldn’t turn the key in the lock to their house; Sehun did not cry when Luhan had to help him button up his shirt. Sehun did not cry because how would Luhan survive if even he broke down himself?
Sehun’s condition deteriorated quickly, and Luhan eventually had to find him a caregiver. Sehun didn’t like the idea of letting anyone other than Luhan take care of him, but he knew that Luhan had to pay for his healthcare needs. Luhan would come home from work every day and sit by Sehun, sometimes telling him about his day, sometimes just staring at him. Sehun seems to get more attractive by the moment, Luhan thinks, even when he’s stuck at home with ALS.
Sehun likes to rest on their couch by the fireplace. There usually isn’t any fire, but Luhan likes to light the fire when he gets back from work. It makes the house feel cosier, he says.
“Hyung, can you light the fire, I’m cold,” Sehun mumbles into Luhan’s jumper.
Luhan gives him two pats on the head and carefully lays Sehun’s head onto the armrest, before hopping over to the fireplace and starting a warm, cheery fire. He fetches Sehun a blanket from their bedroom and walks back over to Sehun.
“There, do you feel better now?” Luhan tucks the sides of the blanket all around Sehun and sits by him on the couch.
“…y’know when I said I was cold, what I really wanted was your body next to mine, and not just your blanket...”
Luhan laughs bright and sunny, much like the fire blazing in the fireplace, “All right fine, fine,” he lays close to Sehun, pressing Sehun to his chest, “And by the way, it’s not my blanket. It’s ours.”
It’s ours, because we’ve been together long enough to not care about what belongs to who anymore.
Every evening they rest like this, pressed close to each other, and sometimes they lie in silent companionship, other times they speak of their memories together. Tonight Sehun decides to talk about the one time Luhan tried to initiate a snowball fight with him in winter.
“Remember that time you sneaked up on me and tried to stuff snow down my back?”
Luhan hums in response.
“Remember how I turned around when your hand had barely reached me, and you hit yourself with the snow instead?”
Luhan fights back a smile, “No? I don’t remember that? I remember you were shrieking and twitching at the cold?”
“...”
Luhan chuckles and brings his lips to Sehun’s forehead, “Of course I remember, you silly kid, how could I forget? I remember everything about you, everything about us.”
Sehun feels Luhan’s lips moving against his brow and he is so, so thankful for this little moment of peace where Sehun is not Sehun with ALS, where Luhan is not Luhan who has to provide for them both, where they are just Sehun and Luhan, two ordinary people with love that runs so deep that nothing could ever tear them apart.
Sehun knows that he doesn’t have much time left, that he won’t be able to feel Luhan by his side for much longer. He allows himself to be selfish just this once, just for these remaining weeks; he allows himself to indulge in the sunshine that Luhan brings with him, the affection that Luhan shows only to him.
Luhan holds Sehun’s hand tighter and he thinks that Sehun doesn’t know how much he’s hurting, but he’s wrong. What Sehun doesn’t know is how forcefully Luhan has to bite the inside of his cheeks to prevent himself from sobbing out loud, how excruciating the pain in his chest is when Luhan thinks back on their past, how hard Luhan has to fight to keep his breath steady so that Sehun won’t feel bad for making him hurt. But Sehun doesn’t tell Luhan that he’s holding his hand in a death grip, that his hand might just fracture with the sheer force of Luhan’s hold.
Luhan thinks he might not even be able to breathe without Sehun, because all these years that they’ve been together, Sehun has somehow managed to incorporate small parts of himself in everything around Luhan. It’s frightening, the way they have become so dependent on each other. This is the kind of reliance children were told never to have, the kind of love children were taught never to show.
Luhan watches helplessly as Sehun grows weaker, night after night his voice becomes softer and frailer. There is nothing he can do except pull rank and take leave from his job to take care of Sehun. Sehun is dying and they both know it, but no one mentions it. Sehun cannot even eat comfortably anymore, and his breaths are so slight that Luhan is afraid he might literally knock the breath out of Sehun with any move he makes.
“In my next life, I’d like to meet you before you meet me,” Sehun whispers, leaning into Luhan’s embrace, “I want to be the one to see you rounding the corner in your red beanie; I want to be the one to chase after you and buy you coffee in that café ten minutes away from here; I want to be the one to hold your hand first, to kiss you first. I want to be the one to love you first.”
Sehun speaks slowly and sincerely, trying hard not to make his words slur. His every word feels like a dagger to Luhan’s heart, a dagger forged by love and sharpened by separation. Luhan winds his arms around Sehun infinitely tighter, as though Sehun would slip away if he didn’t.
“Sure, and I will be the one to turn back to smile at you, to look up from my book at you, Oh Sehun, and I will say ‘thank you for coming after me’,” Luhan chokes back a sob, “I will be the one you kneel to; I will hold onto the hem of your shirt as you kiss me, and I will smile into your kiss.”
Sehun mouths, “Don’t ever forget that, Luhan,” and Luhan lets his tears fall into Sehun’s messy black hair.
Luhan presses a kiss to Sehun’s lips as the fire quenches in the fireplace, as the temperature around them falls a little, as Sehun drifts away.
A/N;
......Merry Christmas????
inspired by Tchaikovsky's January from The Seasons
selu
angst
Janvier (January): Au coin du feu (At the Fireside)
A little corner of peaceful bliss,
the night dressed in twilight;
the little fire is dying in the fireplace,
and the candle has burned out.
(Alexander Pushkin)
Luhan sets his coat on the stand by the door and makes his way to where Sehun is, eyes closed and arms wrapped around himself, leaning awkwardly on the armrest of the couch. Sehun rarely leaves the couch nowadays. Luhan had hired a caregiver for him for when he was at work, to ensure that he would be safe at home.
“Hey,” Luhan sits on the armrest and places his hand on Sehun’s cheek, “How’ve you been today?”
Sehun nuzzles Luhan’s side and buries his head between Luhan and the couch, “Bored. Couldn’t make it past ten minutes of television.”
Luhan smiles lightly. Despite all his grit and willpower, Sehun is really just a kid. He’s the type of kid who would complain about teachers and skip school, but when on vacation, he’d complain about being bored and wasting time away, slouching in front of the computer at home. He used to whine about school a lot to Luhan, and Luhan would pat his face in mock annoyance and say, “Stop pouting, Sehun, or you’re gonna have to go to school tomorrow with swollen lips.”
Sehun has late-onset Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). ALS is a neuron disorder that causes muscle weakness and atrophy due to the degeneration of motor neurons. His doctor had said that he may one day lose the ability to initiate and control all voluntary movement, and Luhan had punched Sehun when he joked, “Hey, then I might pee on you next time.”
It’s funny how scientific research goes way back into the prehistoric times, but no doctor could find an explanation for Sehun’s ALS. Sehun definitely does not have any diseased family member, nor does he have a defect in chromosome number twenty-one. Luhan had spent afternoons in his office poring over research journals, weekends in university libraries scanning through indexes of thick, heavy books, those that you’d think contain a simple explanation of ALS, but he has found nothing. Most wrote it off as ‘there is no known cause of sporadic ALS.’ Yup, that helps a whole lot.
Sehun told him it didn’t matter. The cause didn’t matter. What matters is how they deal with it. Luhan had looked at him in disbelief and went, “It doesn’t matter? How am I going to deal with this if I don’t even understand why this happened to you? Why you, of all people? You haven’t done anything wrong,” Luhan slowed down, “Why not me?”
Sehun had had to wipe tears away from Luhan’s face so many times since he was diagnosed, but he never let himself cry. Sehun did not cry when he tripped over himself walking towards Luhan; Sehun did not cry when he couldn’t turn the key in the lock to their house; Sehun did not cry when Luhan had to help him button up his shirt. Sehun did not cry because how would Luhan survive if even he broke down himself?
Sehun’s condition deteriorated quickly, and Luhan eventually had to find him a caregiver. Sehun didn’t like the idea of letting anyone other than Luhan take care of him, but he knew that Luhan had to pay for his healthcare needs. Luhan would come home from work every day and sit by Sehun, sometimes telling him about his day, sometimes just staring at him. Sehun seems to get more attractive by the moment, Luhan thinks, even when he’s stuck at home with ALS.
Sehun likes to rest on their couch by the fireplace. There usually isn’t any fire, but Luhan likes to light the fire when he gets back from work. It makes the house feel cosier, he says.
“Hyung, can you light the fire, I’m cold,” Sehun mumbles into Luhan’s jumper.
Luhan gives him two pats on the head and carefully lays Sehun’s head onto the armrest, before hopping over to the fireplace and starting a warm, cheery fire. He fetches Sehun a blanket from their bedroom and walks back over to Sehun.
“There, do you feel better now?” Luhan tucks the sides of the blanket all around Sehun and sits by him on the couch.
“…y’know when I said I was cold, what I really wanted was your body next to mine, and not just your blanket...”
Luhan laughs bright and sunny, much like the fire blazing in the fireplace, “All right fine, fine,” he lays close to Sehun, pressing Sehun to his chest, “And by the way, it’s not my blanket. It’s ours.”
It’s ours, because we’ve been together long enough to not care about what belongs to who anymore.
Every evening they rest like this, pressed close to each other, and sometimes they lie in silent companionship, other times they speak of their memories together. Tonight Sehun decides to talk about the one time Luhan tried to initiate a snowball fight with him in winter.
“Remember that time you sneaked up on me and tried to stuff snow down my back?”
Luhan hums in response.
“Remember how I turned around when your hand had barely reached me, and you hit yourself with the snow instead?”
Luhan fights back a smile, “No? I don’t remember that? I remember you were shrieking and twitching at the cold?”
“...”
Luhan chuckles and brings his lips to Sehun’s forehead, “Of course I remember, you silly kid, how could I forget? I remember everything about you, everything about us.”
Sehun feels Luhan’s lips moving against his brow and he is so, so thankful for this little moment of peace where Sehun is not Sehun with ALS, where Luhan is not Luhan who has to provide for them both, where they are just Sehun and Luhan, two ordinary people with love that runs so deep that nothing could ever tear them apart.
Sehun knows that he doesn’t have much time left, that he won’t be able to feel Luhan by his side for much longer. He allows himself to be selfish just this once, just for these remaining weeks; he allows himself to indulge in the sunshine that Luhan brings with him, the affection that Luhan shows only to him.
Luhan holds Sehun’s hand tighter and he thinks that Sehun doesn’t know how much he’s hurting, but he’s wrong. What Sehun doesn’t know is how forcefully Luhan has to bite the inside of his cheeks to prevent himself from sobbing out loud, how excruciating the pain in his chest is when Luhan thinks back on their past, how hard Luhan has to fight to keep his breath steady so that Sehun won’t feel bad for making him hurt. But Sehun doesn’t tell Luhan that he’s holding his hand in a death grip, that his hand might just fracture with the sheer force of Luhan’s hold.
Luhan thinks he might not even be able to breathe without Sehun, because all these years that they’ve been together, Sehun has somehow managed to incorporate small parts of himself in everything around Luhan. It’s frightening, the way they have become so dependent on each other. This is the kind of reliance children were told never to have, the kind of love children were taught never to show.
Luhan watches helplessly as Sehun grows weaker, night after night his voice becomes softer and frailer. There is nothing he can do except pull rank and take leave from his job to take care of Sehun. Sehun is dying and they both know it, but no one mentions it. Sehun cannot even eat comfortably anymore, and his breaths are so slight that Luhan is afraid he might literally knock the breath out of Sehun with any move he makes.
“In my next life, I’d like to meet you before you meet me,” Sehun whispers, leaning into Luhan’s embrace, “I want to be the one to see you rounding the corner in your red beanie; I want to be the one to chase after you and buy you coffee in that café ten minutes away from here; I want to be the one to hold your hand first, to kiss you first. I want to be the one to love you first.”
Sehun speaks slowly and sincerely, trying hard not to make his words slur. His every word feels like a dagger to Luhan’s heart, a dagger forged by love and sharpened by separation. Luhan winds his arms around Sehun infinitely tighter, as though Sehun would slip away if he didn’t.
“Sure, and I will be the one to turn back to smile at you, to look up from my book at you, Oh Sehun, and I will say ‘thank you for coming after me’,” Luhan chokes back a sob, “I will be the one you kneel to; I will hold onto the hem of your shirt as you kiss me, and I will smile into your kiss.”
Sehun mouths, “Don’t ever forget that, Luhan,” and Luhan lets his tears fall into Sehun’s messy black hair.
Luhan presses a kiss to Sehun’s lips as the fire quenches in the fireplace, as the temperature around them falls a little, as Sehun drifts away.
A/N;
......Merry Christmas????