If there's one thing that we know- it's that we will not grow old
Title: If there's one thing that we know- it's that we will not grow old
Pairing: Jaesu
Rating: Pg-13
Word Count: 407
Disclaimer: Title adapted from lyrics of the song 'We Will Not Grow Old' by Lenka.
A/N: I can't concentrate. D:
A ceiling with peeling paint. That was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. The whirring of the fan reverberated off the walls, colliding with each other into an explosion of silence. He struggles, but eventually sits up and rests his back against a propped-up pillow.
He wonders what day is it. Not that it matters, it’s just another day. Another day with sunshine and blue skies, at the other end of the window he can’t reach. It doesn’t bother him, he’s used to it.
The warmth seeping through the gap between the windowsill and the frame is inviting. It feels familiar. It feels like him. He smiles at the memory.
They were so young then, innocent and willful, with nothing to lose. They had the world under their feet, or so they thought.
They were so young then. Their love was everything they believed in. And they fought, hard and reckless for their belief.
A small chuckle escapes his mouth as his mind drifts down memory lane, their escapades still painted in colours. They were, so young then.
The smile slowly creeps to his eyes and a network of lines spread out from the corners, a sign of weathering. He lifts his hand, and reaches for the light, the warmth.
When are you taking me with you?
He stares at the light on his hand. With naked eye he sees colour and life slipping through his fingers, streaming out the crumpled skin. Like smoke. Like the smoke he exhales everytime he takes a drag on his cigarette.
He closes his eyes, feeling the weight on his eyelids- very heavy, veryvery heavy.
He had a dream. He dreamt that Jaejoong finally came for him, hand outstretched. And he spent no time locking their fingers together. Then he noticed. Both their hands are free of creases and Jaejoong looks younger, much much younger. He smiles, and the wrinkles are no longer existent. He feels light, as if- as if he’s floating, flying.
Stupid old man, what took you so long?
Oh shut up Su. I’ve come, haven’t I? Hold on tight.
And he thinks it’s redundant for Jaejoong to say that. He’s never never letting go of this warmth again.
The whirring of the fan reverberated off the walls. The man on the bed is gone, on another escapade with the man of his life.
He never saw the ceiling with peeling paint again.
Pairing: Jaesu
Rating: Pg-13
Word Count: 407
Disclaimer: Title adapted from lyrics of the song 'We Will Not Grow Old' by Lenka.
A/N: I can't concentrate. D:
A ceiling with peeling paint. That was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. The whirring of the fan reverberated off the walls, colliding with each other into an explosion of silence. He struggles, but eventually sits up and rests his back against a propped-up pillow.
He wonders what day is it. Not that it matters, it’s just another day. Another day with sunshine and blue skies, at the other end of the window he can’t reach. It doesn’t bother him, he’s used to it.
The warmth seeping through the gap between the windowsill and the frame is inviting. It feels familiar. It feels like him. He smiles at the memory.
They were so young then, innocent and willful, with nothing to lose. They had the world under their feet, or so they thought.
They were so young then. Their love was everything they believed in. And they fought, hard and reckless for their belief.
A small chuckle escapes his mouth as his mind drifts down memory lane, their escapades still painted in colours. They were, so young then.
The smile slowly creeps to his eyes and a network of lines spread out from the corners, a sign of weathering. He lifts his hand, and reaches for the light, the warmth.
When are you taking me with you?
He stares at the light on his hand. With naked eye he sees colour and life slipping through his fingers, streaming out the crumpled skin. Like smoke. Like the smoke he exhales everytime he takes a drag on his cigarette.
He closes his eyes, feeling the weight on his eyelids- very heavy, veryvery heavy.
He had a dream. He dreamt that Jaejoong finally came for him, hand outstretched. And he spent no time locking their fingers together. Then he noticed. Both their hands are free of creases and Jaejoong looks younger, much much younger. He smiles, and the wrinkles are no longer existent. He feels light, as if- as if he’s floating, flying.
Stupid old man, what took you so long?
Oh shut up Su. I’ve come, haven’t I? Hold on tight.
And he thinks it’s redundant for Jaejoong to say that. He’s never never letting go of this warmth again.
The whirring of the fan reverberated off the walls. The man on the bed is gone, on another escapade with the man of his life.
He never saw the ceiling with peeling paint again.