This One Last Bullet You Mention, My One Last Shot - Oneshot (Chulhae)
Title: This One Last Bullet You Mention, My One Last Shot
Fic Challenge: 014. Home, Heechul/Donghae (6/100)
Author: kayjayloves
Chapter: 1/1
Pairing: Heechul/Donghae(can be taken as friendship)
Band: Super Junior
Genre: AU, Surrealness?
Rating: PG13
Warning: cussing, drug references, an ending that could be taken in a negative way
Disclaimer: Don't own these boys, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: “Hi,” He might’ve said, if he’d been in a good enough mood. The kid would’ve replied - would’ve started chattering away about something- .
Comments: original post here
Half of me is asleep in the trailer next door.
I’m standing here, but my breath is falling and rising in deep, unconscious rhythm fifteen feet away, and yet my lungs are filling with this fresh outdoor air. I don’t want to have to explain it to you, but I’m there. Not here.
But I am talking to you.
So humor me just this once, because I don’t have much time.
The scene’s like this; a teenage guy sitting on a couch, flicking the lighter he bought at a garage sale, waiting for something - anything, to happen. He hasn’t been eating well, his thin wrists connect to thinner arms and wiry shoulders. Around him the air is hanging heavy-like. If you’d been there, you’d have felt the sweat weighing down your skin as you craved cold showers and heavenly dry air.
But you weren’t there. No one was. Just him, the heat, and the boredom.
So he gets tired of sitting, right? Decides to stand up and find something to do - leaves all his shit (the lighter, the picked-at pizza, the cell that’s been dead for days) on the floor and gets out of the house. He heads for the neighbors’, and there’s a kid who’s too loud and too cheerful outside the door when he gets there.
“Hi,” He might’ve said, if he’d been in a good enough mood. The kid would’ve replied - would’ve started chattering away about something or another insignificant. Just a waste of perfectly good air, he’d have mentioned.
But he wasn’t in a good mood. So he glared and the kid stared back, and that was that.
He keeps walking for a bit, and - shit, this really isn’t important. I don’t have the time, just pretend it’s a few hours later, okay?
So now he’s talking to this guy - this one’s an idiot, completely and irritatingly self absorbed, and when he looks at him it’s like looking in a goddamn mirror of his own personality. They’re staring each other down, and then the other guy laughs.
They shake hands, and suddenly there’s a packet in his hand, right?
“Thanks.” He might’ve said, but he was pretty interested in that powder and not so interested in what came out of his mouth. The other guy’s pocket jingled with cash, and when he walks away there’s satisfied laughter ringing from behind.
So he gets back to that junky little home of his, and he’s pretty damn happy. And imagine you’re here - stale air pushing down around you, some rotting shit sinking into your nose, and that beautiful, soft pearly powder clenched in your hand. You’d be happy too, okay?
But you’re not there. He is. Him and the powder.
So maybe he takes it a little too far? He’s pouring little fine white tracks and watching his reflection stare back at him beneath the lines, and maybe he stops counting after the first sniff and maybe it’s a little more than he’s ever done before.
Maybe instead of flying high he’s losing his grip.
So, well, let the scene get a little blurry here. ‘Cause he’s not sure what’s happening, and everything’s shattering like the mirror did between his fingers, after the little package is empty. But picture him not yelling, not screaming, not even looking at his own bloody fingers - then let the image start to fade.
And now he’s sleeping, shit, he is sleeping, right? But he’s not, ‘cause he’s here - I mean, I’m here, and I’m telling this to you.
I’m sorry I didn’t say hi to you that morning. I guess I had other things on my mind.
Come wake me up and I’ll apologize, okay?
-------
Author's Notes:
Comments are love, as always. ^^
Fic Challenge: 014. Home, Heechul/Donghae (6/100)
Author: kayjayloves
Chapter: 1/1
Pairing: Heechul/Donghae(can be taken as friendship)
Band: Super Junior
Genre: AU, Surrealness?
Rating: PG13
Warning: cussing, drug references, an ending that could be taken in a negative way
Disclaimer: Don't own these boys, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: “Hi,” He might’ve said, if he’d been in a good enough mood. The kid would’ve replied - would’ve started chattering away about something- .
Comments: original post here
Half of me is asleep in the trailer next door.
I’m standing here, but my breath is falling and rising in deep, unconscious rhythm fifteen feet away, and yet my lungs are filling with this fresh outdoor air. I don’t want to have to explain it to you, but I’m there. Not here.
But I am talking to you.
So humor me just this once, because I don’t have much time.
The scene’s like this; a teenage guy sitting on a couch, flicking the lighter he bought at a garage sale, waiting for something - anything, to happen. He hasn’t been eating well, his thin wrists connect to thinner arms and wiry shoulders. Around him the air is hanging heavy-like. If you’d been there, you’d have felt the sweat weighing down your skin as you craved cold showers and heavenly dry air.
But you weren’t there. No one was. Just him, the heat, and the boredom.
So he gets tired of sitting, right? Decides to stand up and find something to do - leaves all his shit (the lighter, the picked-at pizza, the cell that’s been dead for days) on the floor and gets out of the house. He heads for the neighbors’, and there’s a kid who’s too loud and too cheerful outside the door when he gets there.
“Hi,” He might’ve said, if he’d been in a good enough mood. The kid would’ve replied - would’ve started chattering away about something or another insignificant. Just a waste of perfectly good air, he’d have mentioned.
But he wasn’t in a good mood. So he glared and the kid stared back, and that was that.
He keeps walking for a bit, and - shit, this really isn’t important. I don’t have the time, just pretend it’s a few hours later, okay?
So now he’s talking to this guy - this one’s an idiot, completely and irritatingly self absorbed, and when he looks at him it’s like looking in a goddamn mirror of his own personality. They’re staring each other down, and then the other guy laughs.
They shake hands, and suddenly there’s a packet in his hand, right?
“Thanks.” He might’ve said, but he was pretty interested in that powder and not so interested in what came out of his mouth. The other guy’s pocket jingled with cash, and when he walks away there’s satisfied laughter ringing from behind.
So he gets back to that junky little home of his, and he’s pretty damn happy. And imagine you’re here - stale air pushing down around you, some rotting shit sinking into your nose, and that beautiful, soft pearly powder clenched in your hand. You’d be happy too, okay?
But you’re not there. He is. Him and the powder.
So maybe he takes it a little too far? He’s pouring little fine white tracks and watching his reflection stare back at him beneath the lines, and maybe he stops counting after the first sniff and maybe it’s a little more than he’s ever done before.
Maybe instead of flying high he’s losing his grip.
So, well, let the scene get a little blurry here. ‘Cause he’s not sure what’s happening, and everything’s shattering like the mirror did between his fingers, after the little package is empty. But picture him not yelling, not screaming, not even looking at his own bloody fingers - then let the image start to fade.
And now he’s sleeping, shit, he is sleeping, right? But he’s not, ‘cause he’s here - I mean, I’m here, and I’m telling this to you.
I’m sorry I didn’t say hi to you that morning. I guess I had other things on my mind.
Come wake me up and I’ll apologize, okay?
-------
Author's Notes:
Comments are love, as always. ^^