Hold onto My Warmth [moonwave oneshot]
x-posted from hushedmembers
.Hold onto My Warmth
.Changmin/Yoochun, G
.Midnight conversation and silence
.Angst-y, I suppose
The night is heavy around them as they sit on the banks of the river. Silence hangs even heavier between them. Each has thoughts, feelings, urges pounding through their brains but neither acts on them. The silence is heavy but comfortable because the other is there to share it. Melancholy. That is what they claimed during their last couple talk. The growing truth of that statement cracks both of them in tiny ways. Ways that mostly go unnoticed.
“This isn’t how it is suppose to be.”
“No, it’s not.”
A rustle of fabric. “I miss you. All of you. But especially you.”
“I miss you. Even with their company, their support, I miss you every single day.”
A sigh and then silence descends once again but just a little lighter for the words spoken. Unnecessary words because they know these things without speaking. Necessary because the human psyche demands verbal confirmation of what the intellect already knows. Because the heart needs the balm to soothe the ache of time and distance.
And loss.
“I have to get back.”
“Me too.”
“It’s over, isn’t it.” A question turned into a flat statement.
“I would say so.”
“Even gods die.”
Fingers link briefly, enjoying the dry warmth of skin against skin. “Gods may die. And humans certainly do. But we are not dead yet. Don’t go killing us, killing you and me just yet.”
“No, you’re right. We’re not dead yet. Just sometimes, it feels like it. Inside.” Squeezing tightly, desperately, fingers ease away. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
As one half of a whole walks away, the other turns a dark, wet gaze up to the night sky. A sky hung low with cloud cover and city lights. A sky, he reminds himself, they both live under everyday. His hand curls into a fist, an unintentional mirror of the other hand that is moving further away, in an effort to hold on to the warmth.
.Hold onto My Warmth
.Changmin/Yoochun, G
.Midnight conversation and silence
.Angst-y, I suppose
The night is heavy around them as they sit on the banks of the river. Silence hangs even heavier between them. Each has thoughts, feelings, urges pounding through their brains but neither acts on them. The silence is heavy but comfortable because the other is there to share it. Melancholy. That is what they claimed during their last couple talk. The growing truth of that statement cracks both of them in tiny ways. Ways that mostly go unnoticed.
“This isn’t how it is suppose to be.”
“No, it’s not.”
A rustle of fabric. “I miss you. All of you. But especially you.”
“I miss you. Even with their company, their support, I miss you every single day.”
A sigh and then silence descends once again but just a little lighter for the words spoken. Unnecessary words because they know these things without speaking. Necessary because the human psyche demands verbal confirmation of what the intellect already knows. Because the heart needs the balm to soothe the ache of time and distance.
And loss.
“I have to get back.”
“Me too.”
“It’s over, isn’t it.” A question turned into a flat statement.
“I would say so.”
“Even gods die.”
Fingers link briefly, enjoying the dry warmth of skin against skin. “Gods may die. And humans certainly do. But we are not dead yet. Don’t go killing us, killing you and me just yet.”
“No, you’re right. We’re not dead yet. Just sometimes, it feels like it. Inside.” Squeezing tightly, desperately, fingers ease away. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
As one half of a whole walks away, the other turns a dark, wet gaze up to the night sky. A sky hung low with cloud cover and city lights. A sky, he reminds himself, they both live under everyday. His hand curls into a fist, an unintentional mirror of the other hand that is moving further away, in an effort to hold on to the warmth.