Closer, Breathes the Breeze
Closer, Breathes the Breeze
Block B: Kyung/U-Kwon
653 words, rated G
Summary: The golden leaves started falling sometime in September; Kyung has been falling ever since.
The sky, still blue from the hydration of spring's showers, is bleeding red while the puffs left from the planes make dots of pink and orange. Summer is losing its heat, and soon the winds of autumn will cool down all but the memories.
Kyung feels the warmth of the falling sun on the pale skin uncovered by his cardigan. He picks at the blades of grass nears his shoes and listens for the next chord. Yukwon strums once more before cradling the guitar closer to his body. The afternoon gust blows around him, and Kyung watches as Yukwon's shirt moves along with the breeze. He notices how Yukwon shudders slightly before strumming again, how bare arms are rested upon the instrument, how eyes almost disappear when a smile begins to appear.
Kyung sighs, brings his knees closer, and nestles his chin gently between them. Yukwon grabs the neck of his guitar and places it on the other side of his body before leaning back. Kyung glances over before settling his eyes on the sinking sun. The air is colder now, and the lights of the city start to come on. Kyung stretches his legs out and rubs his palms against his thighs, desperate for something to do. Yukwon never stirs until Kyung moves to rise. Strong fingers push against Kyung’s hip, inches away from Kyung’s own hand. Kyung gives into the pressure of Yukwon before his sense of reality takes over.
The city comes alive, bursting in colors that are reminiscent of morning. Yukwon stares into the sky; Kyung stares at Yukwon. The final glimpse of the day collapses under the weight of the black night. Yukwon lets out a breath, and Kyung's vision follows the barely-there white stream until he can no longer distinguish it from the wisps of clouds. Yukwon mutters something too soft to hear; Kyung fiddles with the top button of his cardigan. Sleep comes too quickly for Yukwon whose yawns become less frequent and more like steady snores. Kyung catches a few of the notes the wind carries as it passes over him. It sounds like a beginning, and before he dozes off, he hums it in the shell of Yukwon's ear.
Kyung peaks through his lids to see the streaks of sunshine lighting up the ends of Yukwon's hair. Yukwon smiles and brushes his knuckles against the back of Kyung's hand. Kyung shudders despite the heat of the morning, but he tugs the neck of the fabric tighter around him. Yukwon's fingers intertwine with Kyung's, and for one moment, Kyung doesn't wonder whether or not he is dreaming.
The moment lasts longer in his mind than his tongue would've liked, but it does end.
"What are you doing, Kwon-ah?" His voice is shaky and far too telling, changing tones like a love-sick teenager.
Yukwon's body moves, not away just up. He props on one arm, adjusts his body, and leans into Kyung. Their fingers never lose contact; Kyung pretends not to notice.
"You said you wanted us to be closer," Yukwon says. Kyung's depth perception catches the change in distance, the way the space between them diminishes. "Now, we are. Closer."
Soft lips come closer still, until they touch on Kyung's cheek. He starts to say he didn't mean it, but then those lips trace the line of his jaw. Closer. They are closer. The words echo in his minds like the nameless tune of the night. The leaves dance around the space above them, but they never crash on the ground. Kyung takes this as a sign of falling. As Yukwon pulls back, those sweet lips stretch out into a smile.
The leaves of yellow and orange hit the ground as they watch the sky. Yukwon mutters something about the impending autumn because of this. Kyung thinks they should have fallen earlier.
For a salmon who flails against the current and a bird that flies beside her.
Block B: Kyung/U-Kwon
653 words, rated G
Summary: The golden leaves started falling sometime in September; Kyung has been falling ever since.
The sky, still blue from the hydration of spring's showers, is bleeding red while the puffs left from the planes make dots of pink and orange. Summer is losing its heat, and soon the winds of autumn will cool down all but the memories.
Kyung feels the warmth of the falling sun on the pale skin uncovered by his cardigan. He picks at the blades of grass nears his shoes and listens for the next chord. Yukwon strums once more before cradling the guitar closer to his body. The afternoon gust blows around him, and Kyung watches as Yukwon's shirt moves along with the breeze. He notices how Yukwon shudders slightly before strumming again, how bare arms are rested upon the instrument, how eyes almost disappear when a smile begins to appear.
Kyung sighs, brings his knees closer, and nestles his chin gently between them. Yukwon grabs the neck of his guitar and places it on the other side of his body before leaning back. Kyung glances over before settling his eyes on the sinking sun. The air is colder now, and the lights of the city start to come on. Kyung stretches his legs out and rubs his palms against his thighs, desperate for something to do. Yukwon never stirs until Kyung moves to rise. Strong fingers push against Kyung’s hip, inches away from Kyung’s own hand. Kyung gives into the pressure of Yukwon before his sense of reality takes over.
The city comes alive, bursting in colors that are reminiscent of morning. Yukwon stares into the sky; Kyung stares at Yukwon. The final glimpse of the day collapses under the weight of the black night. Yukwon lets out a breath, and Kyung's vision follows the barely-there white stream until he can no longer distinguish it from the wisps of clouds. Yukwon mutters something too soft to hear; Kyung fiddles with the top button of his cardigan. Sleep comes too quickly for Yukwon whose yawns become less frequent and more like steady snores. Kyung catches a few of the notes the wind carries as it passes over him. It sounds like a beginning, and before he dozes off, he hums it in the shell of Yukwon's ear.
Kyung peaks through his lids to see the streaks of sunshine lighting up the ends of Yukwon's hair. Yukwon smiles and brushes his knuckles against the back of Kyung's hand. Kyung shudders despite the heat of the morning, but he tugs the neck of the fabric tighter around him. Yukwon's fingers intertwine with Kyung's, and for one moment, Kyung doesn't wonder whether or not he is dreaming.
The moment lasts longer in his mind than his tongue would've liked, but it does end.
"What are you doing, Kwon-ah?" His voice is shaky and far too telling, changing tones like a love-sick teenager.
Yukwon's body moves, not away just up. He props on one arm, adjusts his body, and leans into Kyung. Their fingers never lose contact; Kyung pretends not to notice.
"You said you wanted us to be closer," Yukwon says. Kyung's depth perception catches the change in distance, the way the space between them diminishes. "Now, we are. Closer."
Soft lips come closer still, until they touch on Kyung's cheek. He starts to say he didn't mean it, but then those lips trace the line of his jaw. Closer. They are closer. The words echo in his minds like the nameless tune of the night. The leaves dance around the space above them, but they never crash on the ground. Kyung takes this as a sign of falling. As Yukwon pulls back, those sweet lips stretch out into a smile.
The leaves of yellow and orange hit the ground as they watch the sky. Yukwon mutters something about the impending autumn because of this. Kyung thinks they should have fallen earlier.
For a salmon who flails against the current and a bird that flies beside her.