Fic: Spaces - Huntelaar/van Persie
Title: Spaces
Author: huntingjanuary
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Complete fictive garbage makes the world go around.
Pairing: Klaas-Jan Huntelaar/Robin van Persie - KJH's POV
A/N: For lisse11 who likes a little Dashboard, MySpace whoring and self-inflicted pain every now and then.
Everything feels empty.
Everything feels hollow, insignificant, and seemed like a waste of time ten times over. There’s a chance he’s dreaming - a small chance, but it’s worth mentioning. But when he realizes it’s that nightmare he can’t wake up from, he sits by the window, delving in the silence. Nothing’s new and nothing’s changed. As if he never left.
Time felt physical, like he could reach out, touch, grab, or push it away. Here’s a stubborn wound that wouldn’t close, chapters and chapters of a story that didn’t seem to have an end, and verses of songs without a chorus. Whoever said it was easy must either be masochistic or completely sedated. He hates that it doesn’t seem to end; even trying deep breaths makes it harder.
Everything feels real.
There was something comforting about staring out the window - there’s a sense of relief that there was still life going on when everything around him feels like a complete standstill. Inside, it was a different dimension, a parallel world to the one behind the glass although everything’s stopped. Movement was limited to occasional blinks and the ever expanding void inside of him.
He keeps hearing scribbles on pages, as if the spaces around him were writing down what memories was left in the air. There’s an attempt to stop them, but he’s locked to his seat and he’s sworn not to let his imaginations fool him. He’s close to pleading insanity to end it, but then he’d be the loser in this and he knows it’s probably what they wanted.
Everything feels wasted.
Sometimes he laughs, but most of the time he’s put a whole new meaning to blanking out. His friends comes and goes, tries to pry him away from the hole he was sinking in further and further in but eventually each one of them gives up out of helplessness. There’s definitely worry, but it’s not any bigger than the vulnerability that seemed to cosset him ever since, so they took their concerns with them and walked out as well.
The tough ones did stay to try second chances to offer their what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger-s and this too shall pass-es. But there was a limit to everything and like the rest, they resort to anger when frustration gets the better of them - redirecting their resentment of failure to him. Maybe it’s true what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but it was probably more exact when what doesn’t kill you makes you linger.
Everything feels done.
The need to move on didn’t seem to bother him too much. He was more worried on sudden changes, believing any impulsive moves would erase the memories faster. There was a need to keep the flame alive although it was one-sided now. Then again, maybe it has always been more on his part. Suggestions and ideas to change his surroundings as a relief were deliberately ignored by him, all to the fact that he’s learned to live with the feeling.
He possibly did give it a chance, but twenty out of ten he’d be too tired to continue trying. He asks on the upsides of moving on and his friends offer him a world without loitering and wanting something or rather, someone that doesn’t want you. He felt the comfort in being stuck in time and the longer he’s in it, the more he felt on the need to protect the void than to attempt to run from it. Somehow the security is still there - at least the feeling of it. Everything else is gone and those spaces are left, still waiting for him to accept truth.
Everything feels -
Author: huntingjanuary
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Complete fictive garbage makes the world go around.
Pairing: Klaas-Jan Huntelaar/Robin van Persie - KJH's POV
A/N: For lisse11 who likes a little Dashboard, MySpace whoring and self-inflicted pain every now and then.
Everything feels empty.
Everything feels hollow, insignificant, and seemed like a waste of time ten times over. There’s a chance he’s dreaming - a small chance, but it’s worth mentioning. But when he realizes it’s that nightmare he can’t wake up from, he sits by the window, delving in the silence. Nothing’s new and nothing’s changed. As if he never left.
Time felt physical, like he could reach out, touch, grab, or push it away. Here’s a stubborn wound that wouldn’t close, chapters and chapters of a story that didn’t seem to have an end, and verses of songs without a chorus. Whoever said it was easy must either be masochistic or completely sedated. He hates that it doesn’t seem to end; even trying deep breaths makes it harder.
Everything feels real.
There was something comforting about staring out the window - there’s a sense of relief that there was still life going on when everything around him feels like a complete standstill. Inside, it was a different dimension, a parallel world to the one behind the glass although everything’s stopped. Movement was limited to occasional blinks and the ever expanding void inside of him.
He keeps hearing scribbles on pages, as if the spaces around him were writing down what memories was left in the air. There’s an attempt to stop them, but he’s locked to his seat and he’s sworn not to let his imaginations fool him. He’s close to pleading insanity to end it, but then he’d be the loser in this and he knows it’s probably what they wanted.
Everything feels wasted.
Sometimes he laughs, but most of the time he’s put a whole new meaning to blanking out. His friends comes and goes, tries to pry him away from the hole he was sinking in further and further in but eventually each one of them gives up out of helplessness. There’s definitely worry, but it’s not any bigger than the vulnerability that seemed to cosset him ever since, so they took their concerns with them and walked out as well.
The tough ones did stay to try second chances to offer their what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger-s and this too shall pass-es. But there was a limit to everything and like the rest, they resort to anger when frustration gets the better of them - redirecting their resentment of failure to him. Maybe it’s true what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but it was probably more exact when what doesn’t kill you makes you linger.
Everything feels done.
The need to move on didn’t seem to bother him too much. He was more worried on sudden changes, believing any impulsive moves would erase the memories faster. There was a need to keep the flame alive although it was one-sided now. Then again, maybe it has always been more on his part. Suggestions and ideas to change his surroundings as a relief were deliberately ignored by him, all to the fact that he’s learned to live with the feeling.
He possibly did give it a chance, but twenty out of ten he’d be too tired to continue trying. He asks on the upsides of moving on and his friends offer him a world without loitering and wanting something or rather, someone that doesn’t want you. He felt the comfort in being stuck in time and the longer he’s in it, the more he felt on the need to protect the void than to attempt to run from it. Somehow the security is still there - at least the feeling of it. Everything else is gone and those spaces are left, still waiting for him to accept truth.
Everything feels -