a sweet pea for my sweet pea....
This was going to be my attempt at the Kpop Prompt Challenge but I had a bout of new inspiration so I'm going with that. But I thought I'd post this here for anybody who wishes to read and comment (concrit is totally love).
Oh, and this is angsty. And no names so pick your pairing.
“Run away with me,” he said.
You stared into hopeful puppy eyes for a minute, for an eternity. Sunlight dappled his face where it filtered through the trees. Sweet peas bloomed, scenting the air around you. In the heady air and the headier moment, you pictured running off together, leaving all the stress and pressure behind. Finding a place accepting of lovers and same-sex marriages, and living happily ever after.
“We can’t.” You crushed his hope with two words. You watched the fire of excitement die under the harsh reality of your response. Maybe tomorrow you could kick a puppy, just to keep in the practice of hurting hopeful, yearning creatures.
He turned away from you, arms crossing protectively over his chest. Head low, he sighed. “I know.”
Birds sang mating calls to each other as you studied the curved neck, the bent shoulders. You stared down at your shoes, scuffed them against the concrete. The park on a shining Sunday afternoon was really not the place to have this come to a head. To confront what you both wanted to still deny with every fiber either of you possessed.
Scuffing your shoe one more time along the sidewalk, you sighed, heavy enough to match his, and reached out a hand. At your touch, he curled further away and you let the hand drop. “I’m sorry.”
He turned to you with a glare. “Not as sorry as I am right now.” Straightening his shoulders, he said, “We could have happily ever after, you know.”
“Happily ever after doesn’t exist.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jeans. Better to resist touching him, you thought.
“Yes it does. But it is work. Not magic. You want the magic without the work.”
“You are being unrealistic.”
With a sharp laugh, he said, “You say I’m unrealistic but at least I am willing to work for what I want, willing to work for us.”
You brushed his words aside, ignoring how they tried to burn into your mind. “We can’t run off together. We have lives here. People depending on us. Family and friends.”
Examining your face, he seemed to search for something and then dropped his eyes to the sidewalk. Rolling his shoulders as if shifting a burdensome weight, he nodded. “Of course.”
You watched him walk away, words demanding in the back of your throat, insisting you call him back, tell him you were wrong. Swallowing those words, you stood surrounded by birdsong and sunlight and wondered at the shattering inside your chest. Perhaps, you thought, this is what a heart attack feels like or maybe a panic attack. He disappeared around a curve in the path, trees hiding him from your gaze, and you dropped to your knees. Uncaring of the picnickers and the dog-walkers, you knelt there with sunbeams burning the back of your neck and birdsongs raking across your ears.
After a lifetime of pain passed, you stood, slow and fragile as a man four times your age. The light was too bright and the birds were too loud. You staggered a little, finding your feet on those newly aged legs. The glare of rainbow hues nearly blinded you as you tottered past swaying sweat peas.
There was a dull ache in the vicinity of your heart but you decided to ignore it. Despite feeling old and a bit decrepit, you knew you were entirely too young for a heart attack. And panic attacks are not deadly. Right?
Someone asked if you were okay and you waved her off when she attempted to take your elbow. You muttered something about not being feeble and she responded with how you could’ve fooled her. You muttered about being young and fit from your job. She laughed and said that Rain needed to take better care of you since you were bobbing and weaving all over the sidewalk. She even suggested you might be drunk and you glared at her before batting her hand aside one more time.
All you wanted was to get out the torturous daylight and away from the screeching birds. You needed shadow and quiet, coolness and peace.
You finally staggered your way into the apartment, pleased to find it empty but wondering to where your group members had vanished. Lightly chilled from the air conditioning, your bedroom was shadowed by closed curtains. Weak and hollow, you flopped onto your bed face-first and sighed.
Then sighed again.
“You want the magic without the work.”
The words echoed so loudly, you lifted your head to see if he was standing in the doorway repeating them. The room proved to still be empty and you rolled onto your back. In the quiet, you heard the hum of the central air, the drip of a faucet - probably the one in the bathroom sink since it tended to leak if the hot tap was not turned off tightly- and the hollowness of the rooms. You felt a tug inside as hollowness acknowledged hollowness and you pondered if your body was becoming nothing more than furnished rooms devoid of life.
“At least I am willing to work for what I want, willing to work for us.”
Again his voice echoed into your brain. Fighting the urge to open your eyes and glance around again, you covered your face with your hand. Nobody was home. You would have heard the door opening and closing. You would have heard the scuffle of shoes and then house slippers. Even over the pounding hollowness inside you and out, you would have heard someone get home.
You knew you could sense him in ways beyond your normal abilities and you hated yourself for it, hated him for it. Hated how he made goose bumps travel over your arms and shivers skate down your spine. You hated yourself and him for the quivering mess you’d become before he’d walked away. Before you refused to run away with him.
“You say I’m unrealistic.”
Oh, and this is angsty. And no names so pick your pairing.
“Run away with me,” he said.
You stared into hopeful puppy eyes for a minute, for an eternity. Sunlight dappled his face where it filtered through the trees. Sweet peas bloomed, scenting the air around you. In the heady air and the headier moment, you pictured running off together, leaving all the stress and pressure behind. Finding a place accepting of lovers and same-sex marriages, and living happily ever after.
“We can’t.” You crushed his hope with two words. You watched the fire of excitement die under the harsh reality of your response. Maybe tomorrow you could kick a puppy, just to keep in the practice of hurting hopeful, yearning creatures.
He turned away from you, arms crossing protectively over his chest. Head low, he sighed. “I know.”
Birds sang mating calls to each other as you studied the curved neck, the bent shoulders. You stared down at your shoes, scuffed them against the concrete. The park on a shining Sunday afternoon was really not the place to have this come to a head. To confront what you both wanted to still deny with every fiber either of you possessed.
Scuffing your shoe one more time along the sidewalk, you sighed, heavy enough to match his, and reached out a hand. At your touch, he curled further away and you let the hand drop. “I’m sorry.”
He turned to you with a glare. “Not as sorry as I am right now.” Straightening his shoulders, he said, “We could have happily ever after, you know.”
“Happily ever after doesn’t exist.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jeans. Better to resist touching him, you thought.
“Yes it does. But it is work. Not magic. You want the magic without the work.”
“You are being unrealistic.”
With a sharp laugh, he said, “You say I’m unrealistic but at least I am willing to work for what I want, willing to work for us.”
You brushed his words aside, ignoring how they tried to burn into your mind. “We can’t run off together. We have lives here. People depending on us. Family and friends.”
Examining your face, he seemed to search for something and then dropped his eyes to the sidewalk. Rolling his shoulders as if shifting a burdensome weight, he nodded. “Of course.”
You watched him walk away, words demanding in the back of your throat, insisting you call him back, tell him you were wrong. Swallowing those words, you stood surrounded by birdsong and sunlight and wondered at the shattering inside your chest. Perhaps, you thought, this is what a heart attack feels like or maybe a panic attack. He disappeared around a curve in the path, trees hiding him from your gaze, and you dropped to your knees. Uncaring of the picnickers and the dog-walkers, you knelt there with sunbeams burning the back of your neck and birdsongs raking across your ears.
After a lifetime of pain passed, you stood, slow and fragile as a man four times your age. The light was too bright and the birds were too loud. You staggered a little, finding your feet on those newly aged legs. The glare of rainbow hues nearly blinded you as you tottered past swaying sweat peas.
There was a dull ache in the vicinity of your heart but you decided to ignore it. Despite feeling old and a bit decrepit, you knew you were entirely too young for a heart attack. And panic attacks are not deadly. Right?
Someone asked if you were okay and you waved her off when she attempted to take your elbow. You muttered something about not being feeble and she responded with how you could’ve fooled her. You muttered about being young and fit from your job. She laughed and said that Rain needed to take better care of you since you were bobbing and weaving all over the sidewalk. She even suggested you might be drunk and you glared at her before batting her hand aside one more time.
All you wanted was to get out the torturous daylight and away from the screeching birds. You needed shadow and quiet, coolness and peace.
You finally staggered your way into the apartment, pleased to find it empty but wondering to where your group members had vanished. Lightly chilled from the air conditioning, your bedroom was shadowed by closed curtains. Weak and hollow, you flopped onto your bed face-first and sighed.
Then sighed again.
“You want the magic without the work.”
The words echoed so loudly, you lifted your head to see if he was standing in the doorway repeating them. The room proved to still be empty and you rolled onto your back. In the quiet, you heard the hum of the central air, the drip of a faucet - probably the one in the bathroom sink since it tended to leak if the hot tap was not turned off tightly- and the hollowness of the rooms. You felt a tug inside as hollowness acknowledged hollowness and you pondered if your body was becoming nothing more than furnished rooms devoid of life.
“At least I am willing to work for what I want, willing to work for us.”
Again his voice echoed into your brain. Fighting the urge to open your eyes and glance around again, you covered your face with your hand. Nobody was home. You would have heard the door opening and closing. You would have heard the scuffle of shoes and then house slippers. Even over the pounding hollowness inside you and out, you would have heard someone get home.
You knew you could sense him in ways beyond your normal abilities and you hated yourself for it, hated him for it. Hated how he made goose bumps travel over your arms and shivers skate down your spine. You hated yourself and him for the quivering mess you’d become before he’d walked away. Before you refused to run away with him.
“You say I’m unrealistic.”