run-on over me
run-on over me
minsu; r
romance/angst
1,038 words
'I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.' - James Joyce, Ulysses
i.
when you first met, he was younger than you; it was painfully obvious, in his shy smiles and quiet demeanor, the way he hunched his shoulders and called you ‘hyung’ - because you were older, because you were his sunbae, you were even taller than him.
those were, as you’ve come to call them, the good old days.
now, however, he commands the respect you have forgone for the sake of an image - korea’s little brother, his brother to mercilessly tease - also an image, but it’s not the same. he is proud, tall, confident-
and for this you don’t tell him that you miss when he was younger than you. you can joke and tease him back, but in all seriousness you cannot tell him that you loved him better when he was young, because even if you loved him better then, you love him enough now not to hurt him so.
ii.
it’s okay, you sometimes think, when you know he loves you, too.
but he loves you and he loves to hurt and it leaves you hurting in love, and sometimes you wish you were hurting for love, because at least then it would be just you hurting; instead, he knows exactly where to hit and every time your love grows weaker, and you hurt for the loss of love, hurt for the fact that sometimes he loves and you know that you, too, know how to hurt him as well, if you told him of this love, this hurt.
you think in such simple terms - can’t think of grand themes and perfect descriptions, can’t match his vocabulary in either, any language, not beyond the script they give you - so simple you think.
but you make it complicated, anyway.
iii.
junsu, he says. do you even hear yourself sometimes? i don’t understand you.
you wait for more words, more teasing, but he looks at you with that odd half-smile, with laughter in his eyes, and you wonder what is going on behind them that so makes him like this; that makes him a mystery to you even when you’ve known each other for so long.
hyung, he says. mockingly.
junsu, he says. hey. are you still here? mockingly, still.
you roll your shoulders and off flow the insults because you’re used to them by now, but you hate that you are because if you stop caring about what he says now, then when does it stop?
iv.
at least there are some things - these things - he still comes to you for.
fingers, crawling across the space between you and catching on yours, one by one til your hands are interlaced, and maybe you’re out in public or at the studio or in the kitchen, and you know that it’s only you he can come to for this, that he’s still yours because you own this feeling that you create in him; and it’s you he reaches for, it’s you he steals away into abandoned rooms and dark corners until it’s just
lips, buried in the hollow of your collarbone, catching drops of sweat that slide down the slope of your shoulders, the tense tendon that jumps out as you curl over him, as he pulls you in, and you feel him so close - the ridges of his fingertips that press and burn against your sides, the soft flesh under your ribs, and the closed mesh of eyelashes that graze your skin, as his eyes are too restless to stay unmoved underneath heavy lids - like this you feel him, and god, this is how you want to feel him, in touch and taste and nothing else; not sound, because sound you have enough of, every day, too-meaningless words and too-meaningful songs that neither of you remember now because right now you’re here, you’re alone, you’re together, and those three facts are walls, neatly enclosing you - while the fourth, final wall you build by the breadth of your back, and his hands run across the knobs of your spine like one may twist and unlock so he can get out, but you won’t let him, you won’t let him because he came to you and this is the space you’ve made where you can be a ‘you and he’, a ‘you and i’, and when his hands fall away you work your lips into his hair, thick strands sticking to your tongue and lips moving across a dye-stained scalp, where your words don't need noise, only touch, and you give him instead sound: sound feeling, sound logic, for that should be enough to satisfy his brain, different enough to keep his interest, and oh, you want him to be satisfied, interested, to feel like you feel, and oh, if he would only stay like this, under you, because this is good, just as good, because.
v.
in this moment, you and he pressed so close that your skin sticks together like the heat between you has melted you two together, you remember why you love him so much, because he looks you straight in the eye, through the eye, and deeper, like he's trying to tell you something and you think, you know, that this is where he wants to be.
vi.
if you spoke such passion-words aloud, would he listen?
quiet in the aftermath, you lie side-by-side, and if he’s thinking you don’t know, but he’s so careful in the concentration on his eyelids, so you stare at the ceiling and try to match his intensity. you can’t
and so you close your eyes, too, and when you roll to his side you stretch out far enough that you can pretend that you’re taller than him, that you’re holding him and that if he wanted, he could look at you and ask, what are you thinking? with wide eyes that really cared, and that if you answered he would hang on to your every word like you could give something to him, and not the other way around, and that you could feel like you meant something again.
vii.
(hey. please. he wants to say. i’m sorry. i’m a little different. he wants to ask. are you still here? are you even thinking of me?)
started writing: 1/19/10
finished writing: 1/19/10
master list
Visitor Counter
well, damn, those are so long sentences. blame james joyce. i blame james joyce :|
this was also partially inspired by another fic i’m working on, in which i realized…. i have a hard time characterizing junsu. i could go on and on about changmin, yoochun and jaejoong - maybe even yunho, but with junsu i have a very hard time. i just feel he’s the type that such has a solid stage persona, it’s easy to fall into writing based on either complete speculation or horrible stereotype. and so, i offer this. hopefully it’s not too incomprehensible :'D
minsu; r
romance/angst
1,038 words
'I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.' - James Joyce, Ulysses
i.
when you first met, he was younger than you; it was painfully obvious, in his shy smiles and quiet demeanor, the way he hunched his shoulders and called you ‘hyung’ - because you were older, because you were his sunbae, you were even taller than him.
those were, as you’ve come to call them, the good old days.
now, however, he commands the respect you have forgone for the sake of an image - korea’s little brother, his brother to mercilessly tease - also an image, but it’s not the same. he is proud, tall, confident-
and for this you don’t tell him that you miss when he was younger than you. you can joke and tease him back, but in all seriousness you cannot tell him that you loved him better when he was young, because even if you loved him better then, you love him enough now not to hurt him so.
ii.
it’s okay, you sometimes think, when you know he loves you, too.
but he loves you and he loves to hurt and it leaves you hurting in love, and sometimes you wish you were hurting for love, because at least then it would be just you hurting; instead, he knows exactly where to hit and every time your love grows weaker, and you hurt for the loss of love, hurt for the fact that sometimes he loves and you know that you, too, know how to hurt him as well, if you told him of this love, this hurt.
you think in such simple terms - can’t think of grand themes and perfect descriptions, can’t match his vocabulary in either, any language, not beyond the script they give you - so simple you think.
but you make it complicated, anyway.
iii.
junsu, he says. do you even hear yourself sometimes? i don’t understand you.
you wait for more words, more teasing, but he looks at you with that odd half-smile, with laughter in his eyes, and you wonder what is going on behind them that so makes him like this; that makes him a mystery to you even when you’ve known each other for so long.
hyung, he says. mockingly.
junsu, he says. hey. are you still here? mockingly, still.
you roll your shoulders and off flow the insults because you’re used to them by now, but you hate that you are because if you stop caring about what he says now, then when does it stop?
iv.
at least there are some things - these things - he still comes to you for.
fingers, crawling across the space between you and catching on yours, one by one til your hands are interlaced, and maybe you’re out in public or at the studio or in the kitchen, and you know that it’s only you he can come to for this, that he’s still yours because you own this feeling that you create in him; and it’s you he reaches for, it’s you he steals away into abandoned rooms and dark corners until it’s just
lips, buried in the hollow of your collarbone, catching drops of sweat that slide down the slope of your shoulders, the tense tendon that jumps out as you curl over him, as he pulls you in, and you feel him so close - the ridges of his fingertips that press and burn against your sides, the soft flesh under your ribs, and the closed mesh of eyelashes that graze your skin, as his eyes are too restless to stay unmoved underneath heavy lids - like this you feel him, and god, this is how you want to feel him, in touch and taste and nothing else; not sound, because sound you have enough of, every day, too-meaningless words and too-meaningful songs that neither of you remember now because right now you’re here, you’re alone, you’re together, and those three facts are walls, neatly enclosing you - while the fourth, final wall you build by the breadth of your back, and his hands run across the knobs of your spine like one may twist and unlock so he can get out, but you won’t let him, you won’t let him because he came to you and this is the space you’ve made where you can be a ‘you and he’, a ‘you and i’, and when his hands fall away you work your lips into his hair, thick strands sticking to your tongue and lips moving across a dye-stained scalp, where your words don't need noise, only touch, and you give him instead sound: sound feeling, sound logic, for that should be enough to satisfy his brain, different enough to keep his interest, and oh, you want him to be satisfied, interested, to feel like you feel, and oh, if he would only stay like this, under you, because this is good, just as good, because.
v.
in this moment, you and he pressed so close that your skin sticks together like the heat between you has melted you two together, you remember why you love him so much, because he looks you straight in the eye, through the eye, and deeper, like he's trying to tell you something and you think, you know, that this is where he wants to be.
vi.
if you spoke such passion-words aloud, would he listen?
quiet in the aftermath, you lie side-by-side, and if he’s thinking you don’t know, but he’s so careful in the concentration on his eyelids, so you stare at the ceiling and try to match his intensity. you can’t
and so you close your eyes, too, and when you roll to his side you stretch out far enough that you can pretend that you’re taller than him, that you’re holding him and that if he wanted, he could look at you and ask, what are you thinking? with wide eyes that really cared, and that if you answered he would hang on to your every word like you could give something to him, and not the other way around, and that you could feel like you meant something again.
vii.
(hey. please. he wants to say. i’m sorry. i’m a little different. he wants to ask. are you still here? are you even thinking of me?)
started writing: 1/19/10
finished writing: 1/19/10
master list
Visitor Counter
well, damn, those are so long sentences. blame james joyce. i blame james joyce :|
this was also partially inspired by another fic i’m working on, in which i realized…. i have a hard time characterizing junsu. i could go on and on about changmin, yoochun and jaejoong - maybe even yunho, but with junsu i have a very hard time. i just feel he’s the type that such has a solid stage persona, it’s easy to fall into writing based on either complete speculation or horrible stereotype. and so, i offer this. hopefully it’s not too incomprehensible :'D