but words may heal our souls.
but words may heal our souls
twojunwoon (doojoon/junhyung/dongwoon), pg-13, goosebump-inducing unbeta'd
continuation of sorts to this!
The hotel was hell. The room they gave him was crumbling, the shower head suffered a tiny cut in the neck and was dripping, so Dongwoon fell asleep listening to its bleeding lullaby drip drip drip until the sun came up. For nights he dreamt of smoke, fading ribbons of grey that escaped from the pinch of pale lips, a lit cigarette dangling between two familiar fingers, and bloodshot eyes that were flooded with tears.
It was Doojoon, and he was sitting on a bed, Dongwoon's bed, he was in Dongwoon's bedroom and the room was how he remembered it to be- a slight dip, a dimple in the pillow where he last laid his heavy head on, that crumpled poster of his favourite band (signed; Doojoon had to fight off other fans for it) and the sunglasses that he borrowed from Junhyung still lying on his desk.
And then Doojoon started to cry. Two tiny rivers flowing from the dark wells of his eyes, sliding off the quivering curve of his chin and onto the floor, drip drip drip. Smoke rising still, the cigarette forgotten and its hot face biting a hole into the bed, so Dongwoon tried to call him, but the smoke pushed his words back down his throat, and suddenly Junhyung was there in the corner of his room, knees pushing into his own chest, one shaky hand holding a kitchen knife over his tattooed arm (carpe diem, carpe diem something, something), and the sharp metal scraped against skin.
Junhyung pressed it down even harder (harder, always harder) and fresh red slid out from the cut, mixing with the dark ink on that arm, splashed under the knife drip as if it was writhing, as if it had life drip. Dongwoon was frozen in his position, his limbs bound by invisible chains. He tried to scream, tear sounds from his tightening throat, a cry or a shout or a howl, but he remained voiceless.
Blood on the floor, smoke behind the door, tears falling even more.
Drip drip drip and Dongwoon woke up, his skin icy wet, like fear had dragged its tongue across his body while he was asleep.
His phone read four in the morning (he tried to ignore the three new messages he received), so he breathed "fuck" and sat up in the tiny bed, thought for a while god this place really is hell and decided to leave. Dongwoon's fingers hovered over the glowing keypad of his phone, and hesitantly, he typed out a reply to Junhyung. On the way home.
He didn't care if they would end up arguing or fighting, he just wanted to go home to Doojoon and Junhyung.
The sun dips beyond the horizon, wrapped by clouds and the moon waits.
Dongwoon stands in front of their door and waits. He can hear light footsteps coming close, then moving away, then coming close again. It must be Doojoon pacing up and down. Junhyung's probably going nuts watching him behave like that, Dongwoon swallows a chuckle and raises his hand to knock. The red muscle in his chest is the size of his fist that is ready over the door, and it pumps faster, shrinking with each breath he takes, until finally he manages a timid tap with his knuckles.
The footsteps draw nearer and grow louder, so Dongwoon takes a step back and watches the door swing open to a wide-eyed Doojoon. Junhyung hops off the sofa and nearly trips over himself, and he freezes in his place behind Doojoon.
"You're back."
"I'm back."
It all sounds as if he never left home for more than two weeks, as if he was still with them, and Dongwoon doesn't know what to make of it.
Junhyung steps forward and reaches for Dongwoon's hand, curling his cold fingers around the younger's in a tight grip, don't ever leave again. Doojoon wraps his arms around Dongwoon and fits his head into the curve of the younger's neck, breathing him in deeply and resting his lips against his warm skin. "I missed you. I missed you. We missed you." He whispers.
Junhyung squeezes Dongwoon's hand and Dongwoon can feel the bone of his thumb pressing into his palm. The cool silver around Junhyung's little finger carves a light crescent on the creases of Dongwoon's ring finger and it comforts him.
I'm home.
The television screams disasters in the background and Dongwoon is convinced that it is actually a plastic coffin of disturbed souls (entertainment to us), so Doojoon silences the TV with just his thumb and the news reporter's excited chatter ends in black.
"Doojoon-ah, give me a hand, will you?" Junhyung calls, moving towards his room (most probably going to clean up the awful mess they made just a few days ago) and Doojoon hums in response while shifting from his place next to Dongwoon, taking reluctant steps towards Junhyung.
Dongwoon decides to drag his feet to his own bedroom.
That signed poster is still up on his wall, the sunglasses and some of Junhyung's clothes are on his bed. The tear stained pillows and messy bedsheets are gone. Dongwoon fingers the edge of his new blanket, traces the soft outlines of rainbow patches and thinks, is this really my room?
Dongwoon lies down on his bed, feels the new pillow sink under his head, shaping itself to fit him. He likes his new pillow, it's soft and white like snow.
"Do you like it?" Doojoon appears in the doorway and asks, while Junhyung shuffles around in the living room.
"I changed them for you, but I put the bedsheets on the wrong way round at first. Junhyung put it on properly after scolding me, I'm still quite miffed about it." Doojoon is staring at his feet and he's shifting his weight from his right foot to his left, catching his own lower lip between nervous teeth. It surprises Dongwoon to see him like this.
"But you never change your bedsheets, hyung."
Dongwoon doesn't hold back his laugh.
The waves of time, no matter how little, washed away the traces of blood in the shifting sand of their minds. The waves swallow everything, eating up gulping fish and breathing life back into their desperate gills, the sand is clear of footsteps and hidden things that could cut. The sand is smooth.
Like the clean shave of overgrown hair on your chinny chin chin.
Dongwoon looks at his own reflection, touches the smooth skin of his cheek and his lips lift into a satisfied smile. Junhyung yawns and enters the bathroom. Upon seeing Dongwoon's clean and fresh face, he laughs, "You look much younger now."
Those dark eye circles are fading, and the untidy hairs on his face are gone. He doesn't look like a wreck anymore.
They fall back into routine, and everything seems normal again. The morning coffee continues to boil at the right time, the curtains part to make way for light again, and the sun continues to burn itself out. There are changes, of course. Doojoon no longer needs to stand outside Dongwoon's room, to hear the pained groans from the toilet and Junhyung doesn't need to keep him from breaking things again. Dongwoon doesn't wake up with a splitting headache or an aching body anymore. He stays at home with Doojoon and Junhyung at night, watching low-budget films and snaking heated limbs all over each other on the tiny couch. He wakes up to warm smiles and sometimes, two warm bodies by his side.
"Let's go out for dinner tonight." Doojoon says, leaning against the doorframe one day. They have been living on too much processed food and Doojoon's horrible cooking (Junhyung insists on being the chef every time but Doojoon is a stubborn bastard).
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know, you choose."
Junhyung squeezes into the narrow doorway and smiles (with one hand behind Doojoon, secretly twisting the flesh of his hip and Doojoon yelps) "Go ahead, pick any place."
Comfortable silence.
Dongwoon watches their mouths grow from confused lines into bright grins, all shining eyes and neat teeth when he says, "We'll come back together, right?"
"... That didn't answer my question, but since you asked."
Doojoon and Junhyung spell 'y e s' in slow, gentle letters with their lips against Dongwoon's forehead.
and of course the title is irrelevant as usual
OTL forgive me idek what i have just written
twojunwoon (doojoon/junhyung/dongwoon), pg-13, goosebump-inducing unbeta'd
continuation of sorts to this!
The hotel was hell. The room they gave him was crumbling, the shower head suffered a tiny cut in the neck and was dripping, so Dongwoon fell asleep listening to its bleeding lullaby drip drip drip until the sun came up. For nights he dreamt of smoke, fading ribbons of grey that escaped from the pinch of pale lips, a lit cigarette dangling between two familiar fingers, and bloodshot eyes that were flooded with tears.
It was Doojoon, and he was sitting on a bed, Dongwoon's bed, he was in Dongwoon's bedroom and the room was how he remembered it to be- a slight dip, a dimple in the pillow where he last laid his heavy head on, that crumpled poster of his favourite band (signed; Doojoon had to fight off other fans for it) and the sunglasses that he borrowed from Junhyung still lying on his desk.
And then Doojoon started to cry. Two tiny rivers flowing from the dark wells of his eyes, sliding off the quivering curve of his chin and onto the floor, drip drip drip. Smoke rising still, the cigarette forgotten and its hot face biting a hole into the bed, so Dongwoon tried to call him, but the smoke pushed his words back down his throat, and suddenly Junhyung was there in the corner of his room, knees pushing into his own chest, one shaky hand holding a kitchen knife over his tattooed arm (carpe diem, carpe diem something, something), and the sharp metal scraped against skin.
Junhyung pressed it down even harder (harder, always harder) and fresh red slid out from the cut, mixing with the dark ink on that arm, splashed under the knife drip as if it was writhing, as if it had life drip. Dongwoon was frozen in his position, his limbs bound by invisible chains. He tried to scream, tear sounds from his tightening throat, a cry or a shout or a howl, but he remained voiceless.
Blood on the floor, smoke behind the door, tears falling even more.
Drip drip drip and Dongwoon woke up, his skin icy wet, like fear had dragged its tongue across his body while he was asleep.
His phone read four in the morning (he tried to ignore the three new messages he received), so he breathed "fuck" and sat up in the tiny bed, thought for a while god this place really is hell and decided to leave. Dongwoon's fingers hovered over the glowing keypad of his phone, and hesitantly, he typed out a reply to Junhyung. On the way home.
He didn't care if they would end up arguing or fighting, he just wanted to go home to Doojoon and Junhyung.
The sun dips beyond the horizon, wrapped by clouds and the moon waits.
Dongwoon stands in front of their door and waits. He can hear light footsteps coming close, then moving away, then coming close again. It must be Doojoon pacing up and down. Junhyung's probably going nuts watching him behave like that, Dongwoon swallows a chuckle and raises his hand to knock. The red muscle in his chest is the size of his fist that is ready over the door, and it pumps faster, shrinking with each breath he takes, until finally he manages a timid tap with his knuckles.
The footsteps draw nearer and grow louder, so Dongwoon takes a step back and watches the door swing open to a wide-eyed Doojoon. Junhyung hops off the sofa and nearly trips over himself, and he freezes in his place behind Doojoon.
"You're back."
"I'm back."
It all sounds as if he never left home for more than two weeks, as if he was still with them, and Dongwoon doesn't know what to make of it.
Junhyung steps forward and reaches for Dongwoon's hand, curling his cold fingers around the younger's in a tight grip, don't ever leave again. Doojoon wraps his arms around Dongwoon and fits his head into the curve of the younger's neck, breathing him in deeply and resting his lips against his warm skin. "I missed you. I missed you. We missed you." He whispers.
Junhyung squeezes Dongwoon's hand and Dongwoon can feel the bone of his thumb pressing into his palm. The cool silver around Junhyung's little finger carves a light crescent on the creases of Dongwoon's ring finger and it comforts him.
I'm home.
The television screams disasters in the background and Dongwoon is convinced that it is actually a plastic coffin of disturbed souls (entertainment to us), so Doojoon silences the TV with just his thumb and the news reporter's excited chatter ends in black.
"Doojoon-ah, give me a hand, will you?" Junhyung calls, moving towards his room (most probably going to clean up the awful mess they made just a few days ago) and Doojoon hums in response while shifting from his place next to Dongwoon, taking reluctant steps towards Junhyung.
Dongwoon decides to drag his feet to his own bedroom.
That signed poster is still up on his wall, the sunglasses and some of Junhyung's clothes are on his bed. The tear stained pillows and messy bedsheets are gone. Dongwoon fingers the edge of his new blanket, traces the soft outlines of rainbow patches and thinks, is this really my room?
Dongwoon lies down on his bed, feels the new pillow sink under his head, shaping itself to fit him. He likes his new pillow, it's soft and white like snow.
"Do you like it?" Doojoon appears in the doorway and asks, while Junhyung shuffles around in the living room.
"I changed them for you, but I put the bedsheets on the wrong way round at first. Junhyung put it on properly after scolding me, I'm still quite miffed about it." Doojoon is staring at his feet and he's shifting his weight from his right foot to his left, catching his own lower lip between nervous teeth. It surprises Dongwoon to see him like this.
"But you never change your bedsheets, hyung."
Dongwoon doesn't hold back his laugh.
The waves of time, no matter how little, washed away the traces of blood in the shifting sand of their minds. The waves swallow everything, eating up gulping fish and breathing life back into their desperate gills, the sand is clear of footsteps and hidden things that could cut. The sand is smooth.
Like the clean shave of overgrown hair on your chinny chin chin.
Dongwoon looks at his own reflection, touches the smooth skin of his cheek and his lips lift into a satisfied smile. Junhyung yawns and enters the bathroom. Upon seeing Dongwoon's clean and fresh face, he laughs, "You look much younger now."
Those dark eye circles are fading, and the untidy hairs on his face are gone. He doesn't look like a wreck anymore.
They fall back into routine, and everything seems normal again. The morning coffee continues to boil at the right time, the curtains part to make way for light again, and the sun continues to burn itself out. There are changes, of course. Doojoon no longer needs to stand outside Dongwoon's room, to hear the pained groans from the toilet and Junhyung doesn't need to keep him from breaking things again. Dongwoon doesn't wake up with a splitting headache or an aching body anymore. He stays at home with Doojoon and Junhyung at night, watching low-budget films and snaking heated limbs all over each other on the tiny couch. He wakes up to warm smiles and sometimes, two warm bodies by his side.
"Let's go out for dinner tonight." Doojoon says, leaning against the doorframe one day. They have been living on too much processed food and Doojoon's horrible cooking (Junhyung insists on being the chef every time but Doojoon is a stubborn bastard).
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know, you choose."
Junhyung squeezes into the narrow doorway and smiles (with one hand behind Doojoon, secretly twisting the flesh of his hip and Doojoon yelps) "Go ahead, pick any place."
Comfortable silence.
Dongwoon watches their mouths grow from confused lines into bright grins, all shining eyes and neat teeth when he says, "We'll come back together, right?"
"... That didn't answer my question, but since you asked."
Doojoon and Junhyung spell 'y e s' in slow, gentle letters with their lips against Dongwoon's forehead.
and of course the title is irrelevant as usual
OTL forgive me idek what i have just written