one in the world
.One In The World
.homin, angst/fluff
.whose smile was so bright he put the sun to shame
.i have a flu, and a history take-home test. what came up is 1000+ incoherent words inspired by Rihanna's "What's My Name" and The Spill Canvas' "Lullaby". also, what is beta i know not the word.
.1
He was the kid whose smile was so bright he put the sun to shame and kissed you until you forgot your own name. You were sixteen, he was eighteen. You looked up to him like an idol, sometimes you couldn’t believe that he was yours. And he looked at you in his own quirky way, a slight gaze that brought you to believing that you were possibly the only thing in his life. He held you like he was afraid he’d drop you, and you let him be because he was the only one that had ever held you that way.
“Changmin.” He’d say your name and you’d fall into his lap with a huge smile, feeling like falling in love all over again.
He was perfect. You were happy.
You both were.
.2
Every story has an ending. Every tale has a last page.
Yours started five minutes from your second year together. There was heavy snowfall and he was on his motorcycle going to your place before 12AM, a promise you made earlier in the day. You knew he was prone to speeding and so you prayed that he’s okay. When the clock ticked past half twelve you started crying. By 1AM you were banging on your parents door, begging them with half-choked sobs to wake up and start the car and help me find Yunho oh god I can’t call him and he’s never been late to anything before I hope he’s okay oh my god oh my god help me.
At 3AM you were staring at him, finally.
But he wasn’t staring back.
.3
He was found in a gutter two blocks away from your house. Something made his motorcycle’s tire slipped and he was thrown about two meters away when the motorcycle twisted around. Cranial bleeding, twisted ankle, multiple fractures and other injuries you had a hard time to even think of had hit him. You wished you hadn’t asked him to come.
You wished really hard you hadn’t.
But you did.
.4
It was after his fourth month in coma when you started crying again. Your parents acknowledged your relationship, but his didn’t. Your parent held you when you heard the news, your dad patting your shoulder and your mom holding your hand when they brought you to the hospital. They let you visit him every day after school and you were forever grateful to them for it.
His parents gave him four month, and then decided to transfer him into another hospital.
Outside the country.
Every story has an ending. Every tale has a last page.
Everybody thought this was yours.
But you didn’t think so.
.5
You did, however, tried to move on from that point in your life. You attended school like usual, you went to college, taking a major in medical psychology, you even got another boyfriend or two. You made friends, lots of them, and you had fun times with them.
They weren’t Yunho though.
So when you go to bed at night, slipping alone under the covers, your mind could only raced back to his smiles, his warm hands, and his soft kisses.
They never touched you enough to make you lose your virginity.
You hated yourself for losing the chance.
You never let anyone else did it.
.6
He was your first patient as a psychologist, the first time you saw him in 9 years. You asked him to sit nearby and he told you stories. He told you how his memories were lost in a coma when he was young and his parents had told him stories of his past that contradicted with what his head said. He was confused, there were memories and images that don’t make any sense and thought he was going mental. You assured him it’s normal, carefully keeping your voice level and contact purely professional. You told him to record what he remembered in a notebook. You gave him tips on how to combat the headache without medications. You smiled as he took his leave.
When you got home, you put your head between your knees and wailed for hours.
.7
Months passed and he opened more to you, talking about all the things he felt and experienced. He was eager to have someone to talk to, he doesn’t have any friends since the accident and you feel a bit guilty for having three dinner dates planned already for the week. You cringed every time he smiled because it’s different; there was a tinge of sorrow that wasn’t there before. You compared him to his old self all the time, how he moved and how he talked and how his gestures and clothes and everything else. You miss him. Hard.
When he talked about a boy with mismatched eyes in his dreams, you felt like crying and kissing him until he lost his breath.
Thankfully, you stopped yourself and complimented him on a remarkable accomplishment instead. He beamed at you in return and you felt your breath stuck again. Just like how it used to.
.8
You were running over your notes on him, palm on your face as you don’t really know what to do with it since all it contained are ramblings and notes about insignificant things like favorite candy: caramel, used to be sour drops and the likes. You were wondering what to write in your report when the door slammed open and he stood there, breath heaving hard. His hair is mussed and his clothes were messy. It was obvious he had been running though from what you didn’t know yet.
“It was you.” He whispered, and you felt like you just imploded.
He smiled groggily. You finally left care to the wind and ran into him.
.9
You remarked absently that you were still a virgin when he left you.
You still were when he came back to you.
You’re my first you whisper, and he stopped from kissing your belly button to look up and gaze at your eyes. The pure, unadulterated lust in the gaze made you feel thoroughly fucked.
Five minutes later, your body shares the same sentiment.
.10
There were shocked responses; the harshest was from his parents while your parents were only pleasantly surprised. There were also compliments, and many squealing sounds as you told your friends of your story. There were some outrages against the breaking of some rule of conduct, mainly being ‘relationship with a patient’ kind of rule. Not to mention there were pressures on what the two of you were going to do with the rest of your lives.
But there were no more lonely nights, and that’s all you could care about.
i'm not even gonna stress how much of a fail this is. /wrists
.homin, angst/fluff
.whose smile was so bright he put the sun to shame
.i have a flu, and a history take-home test. what came up is 1000+ incoherent words inspired by Rihanna's "What's My Name" and The Spill Canvas' "Lullaby". also, what is beta i know not the word.
.1
He was the kid whose smile was so bright he put the sun to shame and kissed you until you forgot your own name. You were sixteen, he was eighteen. You looked up to him like an idol, sometimes you couldn’t believe that he was yours. And he looked at you in his own quirky way, a slight gaze that brought you to believing that you were possibly the only thing in his life. He held you like he was afraid he’d drop you, and you let him be because he was the only one that had ever held you that way.
“Changmin.” He’d say your name and you’d fall into his lap with a huge smile, feeling like falling in love all over again.
He was perfect. You were happy.
You both were.
.2
Every story has an ending. Every tale has a last page.
Yours started five minutes from your second year together. There was heavy snowfall and he was on his motorcycle going to your place before 12AM, a promise you made earlier in the day. You knew he was prone to speeding and so you prayed that he’s okay. When the clock ticked past half twelve you started crying. By 1AM you were banging on your parents door, begging them with half-choked sobs to wake up and start the car and help me find Yunho oh god I can’t call him and he’s never been late to anything before I hope he’s okay oh my god oh my god help me.
At 3AM you were staring at him, finally.
But he wasn’t staring back.
.3
He was found in a gutter two blocks away from your house. Something made his motorcycle’s tire slipped and he was thrown about two meters away when the motorcycle twisted around. Cranial bleeding, twisted ankle, multiple fractures and other injuries you had a hard time to even think of had hit him. You wished you hadn’t asked him to come.
You wished really hard you hadn’t.
But you did.
.4
It was after his fourth month in coma when you started crying again. Your parents acknowledged your relationship, but his didn’t. Your parent held you when you heard the news, your dad patting your shoulder and your mom holding your hand when they brought you to the hospital. They let you visit him every day after school and you were forever grateful to them for it.
His parents gave him four month, and then decided to transfer him into another hospital.
Outside the country.
Every story has an ending. Every tale has a last page.
Everybody thought this was yours.
But you didn’t think so.
.5
You did, however, tried to move on from that point in your life. You attended school like usual, you went to college, taking a major in medical psychology, you even got another boyfriend or two. You made friends, lots of them, and you had fun times with them.
They weren’t Yunho though.
So when you go to bed at night, slipping alone under the covers, your mind could only raced back to his smiles, his warm hands, and his soft kisses.
They never touched you enough to make you lose your virginity.
You hated yourself for losing the chance.
You never let anyone else did it.
.6
He was your first patient as a psychologist, the first time you saw him in 9 years. You asked him to sit nearby and he told you stories. He told you how his memories were lost in a coma when he was young and his parents had told him stories of his past that contradicted with what his head said. He was confused, there were memories and images that don’t make any sense and thought he was going mental. You assured him it’s normal, carefully keeping your voice level and contact purely professional. You told him to record what he remembered in a notebook. You gave him tips on how to combat the headache without medications. You smiled as he took his leave.
When you got home, you put your head between your knees and wailed for hours.
.7
Months passed and he opened more to you, talking about all the things he felt and experienced. He was eager to have someone to talk to, he doesn’t have any friends since the accident and you feel a bit guilty for having three dinner dates planned already for the week. You cringed every time he smiled because it’s different; there was a tinge of sorrow that wasn’t there before. You compared him to his old self all the time, how he moved and how he talked and how his gestures and clothes and everything else. You miss him. Hard.
When he talked about a boy with mismatched eyes in his dreams, you felt like crying and kissing him until he lost his breath.
Thankfully, you stopped yourself and complimented him on a remarkable accomplishment instead. He beamed at you in return and you felt your breath stuck again. Just like how it used to.
.8
You were running over your notes on him, palm on your face as you don’t really know what to do with it since all it contained are ramblings and notes about insignificant things like favorite candy: caramel, used to be sour drops and the likes. You were wondering what to write in your report when the door slammed open and he stood there, breath heaving hard. His hair is mussed and his clothes were messy. It was obvious he had been running though from what you didn’t know yet.
“It was you.” He whispered, and you felt like you just imploded.
He smiled groggily. You finally left care to the wind and ran into him.
.9
You remarked absently that you were still a virgin when he left you.
You still were when he came back to you.
You’re my first you whisper, and he stopped from kissing your belly button to look up and gaze at your eyes. The pure, unadulterated lust in the gaze made you feel thoroughly fucked.
Five minutes later, your body shares the same sentiment.
.10
There were shocked responses; the harshest was from his parents while your parents were only pleasantly surprised. There were also compliments, and many squealing sounds as you told your friends of your story. There were some outrages against the breaking of some rule of conduct, mainly being ‘relationship with a patient’ kind of rule. Not to mention there were pressures on what the two of you were going to do with the rest of your lives.
But there were no more lonely nights, and that’s all you could care about.
i'm not even gonna stress how much of a fail this is. /wrists