[school 2013] fallin' a thousand feet per second
Title: fallin' a thousand feet per second
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~1000
Spoilers: Through episode 11.
Warning: If you've seen the drama, you should know what to expect.
Summary: A fist is sometimes worth a thousand words. (Heungsoo/Namsoon )
fallin' a thousand feet per second
✫ ✫ ✫
There's a lot of shit Namsoon just can't say. I am angry, is one, and it runs the deepest. It's hard when his father isn't home, when he's drunk, when he's breaking things in their house, when he yells for Namsoon to go out and buy cigarettes even if they don't have enough money for dinner, even if Namsoon is wearing last year's uniform, even if Namsoon is fourteen. What he can do is grab his two keys and snarl and rush out of the house and into the world with his cell in his pocket and his boys on speed dial.
"Let's fuck something up," he croons into the wind. It's a beautiful night, just chilly enough to leave goosebumps on his arms and wrists where his sleeves are rolled up, but not cold enough that he needs a jacket. Namsoon almost forgets about the phone, about the fights, almost throws himself into the air.
Changmin laughs on the other end. "I'll get everyone together."
They love it when he's like this, when he's wild and free and overly excited, when he's lost all sense of self. This is the boy who was jumped into the gang at thirteen and became its leader a year and a half later, who decimates anyone crazy enough to take him on in a fight, who giggles when his nose is broken and when his arms and hands are slick with blood. They wrap their arms around him and Namsoon feels strong and invincible and immortal.
Heungsoo shows up late. Namsoon's glad--he missed the worst of it, he missed Joo Won get carried away by his minions, arm shattered. Heungsoo doesn't like it when Namsoon breaks things, says it's not right, says it's a step too far in the wrong direction. Heungsoo doesn't understand that Namsoon doesn't mean to hurt anyone, it just happens. It's an unfortunate side effect of fucking with the wrong person at the wrong time.
Heungsoo jumps off his bike and leaves it to the other boys to pick up and dust off, hand fixing his fringe as he walks over to where Namsoon is recuperating, every breath labored and painful. He looks beautiful in the dark, more beautiful than he does during the day, even. If there was any breath left in his lungs, Namsoon thinks Heungsoo would have stolen it right then and there.
Another thing he can't say. Namsoon racks up the tally.
"You're a mess, Go Namsoon."
"You should see the other guys," it hurts to laugh, but Namsoon can't help it, and he hates himself for it. "You missed a good time."
"I was kicking a ball instead. A little less likely to get me put in jail." Heungsoo slides a hand down Namsoon's cheek, fingers curling under his jaw. "The bastard scratched you up."
"Yeah," Namsoon shivers and feels blood well up in his mouth as Heungsoo presses sharply on Namsoon's cuts. The pain is exciting and erotic, and Namsoon feels himself leaning in. "Yeah."
"You should be more careful." Another swipe of his palm against Namsoon's skin and then he lets go and there's cold air where Heungsoo used to be, and Namsoon feels himself drift back down into reality, eyes refocusing. He wonders if Heungsoo knows what Namsoon is staring at when Heungsoo licks his lips and steps backwards and slides an arm underneath Namsoon's to help him limp over to their bikes. "Can you ride?"
Probably not. Namsoon blinks and bites it back. "Yeah, sure. This is nothing."
"You're going to be a wreck tomorrow," and Heungsoo's voice is horribly soft.
"Yeah."
And then the boys are there so neither of them say anything; they kick off and ride home and Namsoon bites the inside of his lip to keep from gasping at how badly his chest burns when he moves and how frissons of pain slide through the outside of his ankle at every kick of the pedal. He laughs instead, laughs so hard the wind rushes into his mouth and lungs and burns away at the pain, and soon his bike is swerving out of the lane and Heungsoo's fingers are grabbing at his handlebars and Namsoon screams something like, "you can't catch me" and moves faster. He laughs until blood bubbles up in his mouth and he can't even breathe without spitting it all out, and then he has to slow down, foot to the ground, and take stock of his injuries. They're almost at the hospital. Namsoon is sure he can make it.
Heungsoo stops him from getting back on with a hand on his shoulder. "Go home," he says quietly. He looks tired. Namsoon wonders how much more tired he'll get when practice gets harder, when he gets better, when he moves to Seoul and--
Namsoon swallows. "I don't like going home."
The boys are gone, but Heungsoo checks before answering. "I know. Your father isn't back yet, is he?"
"Dunno," Namsoon says sullenly, suddenly self conscious, kicking at the ground, "fuck if I care."
"I'm sleeping at the hospital again. Dunno if she's gonna need anything."
Namsoon can read between the lines. "I'll keep you company."
"It's a small room, and you could use a shower," but Heungsoo is smiling. Namsoon wants to say who will be here for you if I leave and who will be here for me if you leave but instead he spits out another mouthful of blood and laughs, clapping Heungsoo on the shoulder.
"You like the way I smell after a fight. I smell like victory."
"You smell like sweat, bastard." Heungsoo grabs at Namsoon's bike and starts walking.
So Namsoon grabs at Heungsoo and follows.
There a lot of shit he can't say, Namsoon thinks, staring at the back of Heungsoo's head, hair tousled in the wind, soccer uniform still sticking to his back, and I love when you smell of sweat, you bastard is probably one of them. It's up there with and when you touch me and when you and a hundred of other swallowed words, ideas Namsoon builds up and hides away in the recesses of his heart, waiting for the second it's all too much, when his father comes home drunk and calls for rice and soup that they don't have, when Namsoon is alone and there's something suffocating him, something thick in his chest and tearing at his lungs and he wants to rip out his windpipe to let it all free. I'm angry and helpless and I love you, he wants to say, but instead he follows along, feet nipping at Heungsoo's heels, and folds a hand into Heungsoo's pocket.
"What are you doing? You're filthy," Heungsoo says, pushing Namsoon away.
"I'm hurt. I need comfort." It's not entirely a lie. Heungsoo shrugs and pulls Namsoon closer. They're words well within the range of the acceptable; after all, Kyeonggido's jjang deserves to be comfortable.
And Heungsoo smiles--Namsoon can hear it. "If you say so."
✫ ✫ ✫
These are the things Namsoon remembers: fists, words he's bitten back so roughly he has canker sores littering the inside of his mouth, and Heungsoo's body, warm against his in the middle of the night as Namsoon pretends to sleep under the blanket they're sharing.
These are things Namsoon dreams about in class. These are the memories Namsoon uses to reconstruct the third grade over and over and over again in his memory until the past feels almost like the present, a filmy overlay of unreality against the grainy dreariness of Seoul.
And these prickly moments fill the days of his high school years until a transfer student stands at the front of room 2-2 and introduces himself as Park Heungsoo and steals the breath right out of Namsoon's lungs.
Hello, he can't say.
But he swallows three years of silence and tries.
✫ ✫ ✫
Author's Note:: LOL WHELP.
sam: LOL WHELP is that all you have to say for yourself???
els: LOL WHELP ALSO THANKS SAM AKA TWIGGEDTOTHAT@TUMBLR FOR ENABLING ME yeah that's it i would write a love letter but i'm saving that for goong!au idek what i am saying anymore HI GOODBYE LOL WHELP
(title from hedley's perfect aka soundtrack to last week's episode.)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~1000
Spoilers: Through episode 11.
Warning: If you've seen the drama, you should know what to expect.
Summary: A fist is sometimes worth a thousand words. (Heungsoo/Namsoon )
fallin' a thousand feet per second
✫ ✫ ✫
There's a lot of shit Namsoon just can't say. I am angry, is one, and it runs the deepest. It's hard when his father isn't home, when he's drunk, when he's breaking things in their house, when he yells for Namsoon to go out and buy cigarettes even if they don't have enough money for dinner, even if Namsoon is wearing last year's uniform, even if Namsoon is fourteen. What he can do is grab his two keys and snarl and rush out of the house and into the world with his cell in his pocket and his boys on speed dial.
"Let's fuck something up," he croons into the wind. It's a beautiful night, just chilly enough to leave goosebumps on his arms and wrists where his sleeves are rolled up, but not cold enough that he needs a jacket. Namsoon almost forgets about the phone, about the fights, almost throws himself into the air.
Changmin laughs on the other end. "I'll get everyone together."
They love it when he's like this, when he's wild and free and overly excited, when he's lost all sense of self. This is the boy who was jumped into the gang at thirteen and became its leader a year and a half later, who decimates anyone crazy enough to take him on in a fight, who giggles when his nose is broken and when his arms and hands are slick with blood. They wrap their arms around him and Namsoon feels strong and invincible and immortal.
Heungsoo shows up late. Namsoon's glad--he missed the worst of it, he missed Joo Won get carried away by his minions, arm shattered. Heungsoo doesn't like it when Namsoon breaks things, says it's not right, says it's a step too far in the wrong direction. Heungsoo doesn't understand that Namsoon doesn't mean to hurt anyone, it just happens. It's an unfortunate side effect of fucking with the wrong person at the wrong time.
Heungsoo jumps off his bike and leaves it to the other boys to pick up and dust off, hand fixing his fringe as he walks over to where Namsoon is recuperating, every breath labored and painful. He looks beautiful in the dark, more beautiful than he does during the day, even. If there was any breath left in his lungs, Namsoon thinks Heungsoo would have stolen it right then and there.
Another thing he can't say. Namsoon racks up the tally.
"You're a mess, Go Namsoon."
"You should see the other guys," it hurts to laugh, but Namsoon can't help it, and he hates himself for it. "You missed a good time."
"I was kicking a ball instead. A little less likely to get me put in jail." Heungsoo slides a hand down Namsoon's cheek, fingers curling under his jaw. "The bastard scratched you up."
"Yeah," Namsoon shivers and feels blood well up in his mouth as Heungsoo presses sharply on Namsoon's cuts. The pain is exciting and erotic, and Namsoon feels himself leaning in. "Yeah."
"You should be more careful." Another swipe of his palm against Namsoon's skin and then he lets go and there's cold air where Heungsoo used to be, and Namsoon feels himself drift back down into reality, eyes refocusing. He wonders if Heungsoo knows what Namsoon is staring at when Heungsoo licks his lips and steps backwards and slides an arm underneath Namsoon's to help him limp over to their bikes. "Can you ride?"
Probably not. Namsoon blinks and bites it back. "Yeah, sure. This is nothing."
"You're going to be a wreck tomorrow," and Heungsoo's voice is horribly soft.
"Yeah."
And then the boys are there so neither of them say anything; they kick off and ride home and Namsoon bites the inside of his lip to keep from gasping at how badly his chest burns when he moves and how frissons of pain slide through the outside of his ankle at every kick of the pedal. He laughs instead, laughs so hard the wind rushes into his mouth and lungs and burns away at the pain, and soon his bike is swerving out of the lane and Heungsoo's fingers are grabbing at his handlebars and Namsoon screams something like, "you can't catch me" and moves faster. He laughs until blood bubbles up in his mouth and he can't even breathe without spitting it all out, and then he has to slow down, foot to the ground, and take stock of his injuries. They're almost at the hospital. Namsoon is sure he can make it.
Heungsoo stops him from getting back on with a hand on his shoulder. "Go home," he says quietly. He looks tired. Namsoon wonders how much more tired he'll get when practice gets harder, when he gets better, when he moves to Seoul and--
Namsoon swallows. "I don't like going home."
The boys are gone, but Heungsoo checks before answering. "I know. Your father isn't back yet, is he?"
"Dunno," Namsoon says sullenly, suddenly self conscious, kicking at the ground, "fuck if I care."
"I'm sleeping at the hospital again. Dunno if she's gonna need anything."
Namsoon can read between the lines. "I'll keep you company."
"It's a small room, and you could use a shower," but Heungsoo is smiling. Namsoon wants to say who will be here for you if I leave and who will be here for me if you leave but instead he spits out another mouthful of blood and laughs, clapping Heungsoo on the shoulder.
"You like the way I smell after a fight. I smell like victory."
"You smell like sweat, bastard." Heungsoo grabs at Namsoon's bike and starts walking.
So Namsoon grabs at Heungsoo and follows.
There a lot of shit he can't say, Namsoon thinks, staring at the back of Heungsoo's head, hair tousled in the wind, soccer uniform still sticking to his back, and I love when you smell of sweat, you bastard is probably one of them. It's up there with and when you touch me and when you and a hundred of other swallowed words, ideas Namsoon builds up and hides away in the recesses of his heart, waiting for the second it's all too much, when his father comes home drunk and calls for rice and soup that they don't have, when Namsoon is alone and there's something suffocating him, something thick in his chest and tearing at his lungs and he wants to rip out his windpipe to let it all free. I'm angry and helpless and I love you, he wants to say, but instead he follows along, feet nipping at Heungsoo's heels, and folds a hand into Heungsoo's pocket.
"What are you doing? You're filthy," Heungsoo says, pushing Namsoon away.
"I'm hurt. I need comfort." It's not entirely a lie. Heungsoo shrugs and pulls Namsoon closer. They're words well within the range of the acceptable; after all, Kyeonggido's jjang deserves to be comfortable.
And Heungsoo smiles--Namsoon can hear it. "If you say so."
✫ ✫ ✫
These are the things Namsoon remembers: fists, words he's bitten back so roughly he has canker sores littering the inside of his mouth, and Heungsoo's body, warm against his in the middle of the night as Namsoon pretends to sleep under the blanket they're sharing.
These are things Namsoon dreams about in class. These are the memories Namsoon uses to reconstruct the third grade over and over and over again in his memory until the past feels almost like the present, a filmy overlay of unreality against the grainy dreariness of Seoul.
And these prickly moments fill the days of his high school years until a transfer student stands at the front of room 2-2 and introduces himself as Park Heungsoo and steals the breath right out of Namsoon's lungs.
Hello, he can't say.
But he swallows three years of silence and tries.
✫ ✫ ✫
Author's Note:: LOL WHELP.
sam: LOL WHELP is that all you have to say for yourself???
els: LOL WHELP ALSO THANKS SAM AKA TWIGGEDTOTHAT@TUMBLR FOR ENABLING ME yeah that's it i would write a love letter but i'm saving that for goong!au idek what i am saying anymore HI GOODBYE LOL WHELP
(title from hedley's perfect aka soundtrack to last week's episode.)