eternal dream ; onkey
eternal dream ; onkey {broken}
a/n: hi, here's a drabble, i haven't died. :)
----
it's cold here; that kind of damp coldness that finds a way to sneak deep into the fruniture and your bones. jinki can hear the sound of rain echoing off the rooftop, the slow plink of water dripping into the basin
(because the roof leaks, it always has leaked.)
in the bathroom, drilling into his mind. everything was all the same: he'd wake up from some weird fuzzy dream (nightmare?) when it was long past dark outside, grab a notebook or two and start scribbling furiously. hopes, dreams, wishes, fears, nightmares, concerns, regret were all scribbled in the linings, crammed until everything started blurring and running together; pages smeared with spare ink blotches and the occasional tears.
(or was that water, because sometimes the roof leaks in other places. jinki keeps telling himself it's water, because he lost the will to cry some time ago.
so he likes to think.)
he manages to drag himself from the makeshift bedsheets after a few moments of trying to doze back off on the damp couch, stumbling to the bathroom door and leaning against it, shutting his eyes.
jinki hears snatches of voices: concerns, sobs, whispers, hopes, fears, lust, dreams. he sees nothing real; blurred shapes and colours. the voices are suddenly gone, replaced by the sounds of tires skidding on wet asphault, the crunch of metal twisting into itself, the sounds of glass slicing skin. he hears static from the somehow-still functioning radio
(or is that kibum's last words to him?)
sounds that are almost last words being coughed from too-red lips, sounds that shouldn't have ever been uttered (because damn, that was a fair bit of metal protruding from kibum's lean stomach...)
so many what ifs echo in his head, and it's starting to become too much for him again (it's always too much). he stumbles into the bathroom, immediately grabbing the bottle of pills with that stupid scrawl, before popping two and dry-swallowing them.
he crawls in the bathtub, too lazy to try to make it back to the damp couch, trying to calm his breathing and thought patterns.
somewhere in the apartment, the phone rings (it's taemin again, his student that he has to tutor, wishing him well and all sorts of condolences that someone his age shouldn't have to offer); reality calling out to him constantly.
jinki, however, ignores it all. kibum passed away without him, but the sound of him is the cold: dead silence dormant beneath the rain.
a/n: hi, here's a drabble, i haven't died. :)
----
it's cold here; that kind of damp coldness that finds a way to sneak deep into the fruniture and your bones. jinki can hear the sound of rain echoing off the rooftop, the slow plink of water dripping into the basin
(because the roof leaks, it always has leaked.)
in the bathroom, drilling into his mind. everything was all the same: he'd wake up from some weird fuzzy dream (nightmare?) when it was long past dark outside, grab a notebook or two and start scribbling furiously. hopes, dreams, wishes, fears, nightmares, concerns, regret were all scribbled in the linings, crammed until everything started blurring and running together; pages smeared with spare ink blotches and the occasional tears.
(or was that water, because sometimes the roof leaks in other places. jinki keeps telling himself it's water, because he lost the will to cry some time ago.
so he likes to think.)
he manages to drag himself from the makeshift bedsheets after a few moments of trying to doze back off on the damp couch, stumbling to the bathroom door and leaning against it, shutting his eyes.
jinki hears snatches of voices: concerns, sobs, whispers, hopes, fears, lust, dreams. he sees nothing real; blurred shapes and colours. the voices are suddenly gone, replaced by the sounds of tires skidding on wet asphault, the crunch of metal twisting into itself, the sounds of glass slicing skin. he hears static from the somehow-still functioning radio
(or is that kibum's last words to him?)
sounds that are almost last words being coughed from too-red lips, sounds that shouldn't have ever been uttered (because damn, that was a fair bit of metal protruding from kibum's lean stomach...)
so many what ifs echo in his head, and it's starting to become too much for him again (it's always too much). he stumbles into the bathroom, immediately grabbing the bottle of pills with that stupid scrawl, before popping two and dry-swallowing them.
he crawls in the bathtub, too lazy to try to make it back to the damp couch, trying to calm his breathing and thought patterns.
somewhere in the apartment, the phone rings (it's taemin again, his student that he has to tutor, wishing him well and all sorts of condolences that someone his age shouldn't have to offer); reality calling out to him constantly.
jinki, however, ignores it all. kibum passed away without him, but the sound of him is the cold: dead silence dormant beneath the rain.