fic: February, the Sun
Timing is everything. Or so you have always been told anyway.
But then again, in the end timing is such a tricky thing. Maybe it requires talent in the area in question, a great amount of charisma and just the right personality for it, isn’t that so? At least that’s what you think and feel when you walk by the coastline, feet sinking in the wet sand.
You’d like to have the perfect scenery and timing; you’d like the perfect words to leave your perfected lips. That’s what you think. You’d like to be everything your person could ever even dream of.
Yet you feel like the complete opposite.
But then again, timing is everything. And you want this to be perfected; you want everything to fall neatly in its place.
You want the waves to swarm their way to both of your feet. You want the water to reach your ankles.
You want his toes to sink in the sand.
You are the sand. In your own little way. Your own tricky, little and miraculous way.
He’s the sun.
***
The snow is crispy, you conclude when it makes that crunchy sound as you step on it. Crispy is the word. And the air is… breezy.
Beautiful days of February. Beautiful days of the sun.
The snow sparkles so nicely as it reflects the sun’s shine. Little diamond glimmer.
The sun’s smile perfects the beautiful winter picture. You push him in the snow and the air leaves his lungs. He’s gasping for it under you and you can’t help but keep smirking at him. Your mischievous little smirk.
You know so much more than he does. You know you do.
He has snow on him. In his hair.
He’s a child like you are. He fits perfectly in your childish pictures. Your childish little admiration. Affection.
You stuff snow under his coat and he lets out a horrified scream. Cold. He lands a hard kick between your legs and you groan as you fall next to him, whining loudly in protest. The snow covers you. Somewhat, anyway.
He’s on his legs and kicks you. Revenge. You flung and grab his ankle, managing to make him fall over in the snow again.
Little wrestle. More diamond snow.
Crunches.
The tip of his nose is pink and so are his cheeks. But the timing isn’t right. The mood is wrong.
So you play. For it feels good to play around with him.
The sun looks beautiful in winter. It makes miracles.
Soon the sun is 24 years old.
Over eleven years of sunny days for you.
***
Funny how close you can be. How you can interact with each other. Just simply how funny it can be for the two of you to be so ridiculously close yet still so far.
You? You wouldn’t exist without him. Or at least no one would see you.
The sun is the light. The light is what you need to be visible. And on top of that, it warms you up rather nicely. Sometimes you even shine back. Reflect his curious little light.
Or maybe the curious is your own little addition.
There’s no such thing as perfect, you know. But the sun is pretty amazing isn’t it?
Everyone admires the sun.
You love the sun. So do they. But you love the sun.
The sun’s fingertips are its rays.
The sun’s rays always made you feel so warm.
You wouldn’t mind overheating either. As stupid as it sounds. You wouldn’t mind getting a bit too close to the sun.
Human body is composed of 60% water. It vaporizes in the heat.
But there is that 40%. You do have something to give to him. You do have something to offer to the sun.
The sun can burn you. It can vaporize 60% of you and burn the remaining 40%. Getting burned is okay. Chemical reactions in you caused by him. It sounds alright. It’s a bit scary but it’s alright.
Even if he’d burn you, he could never get completely rid of you. You’d stain him with your ashes. Childish but effective.
You’re in love with the sun.
You reflect him with your sunny smiles. Maybe you can shine for a bit too. Maybe you’ll be lit when he burns you.
He’s already burning you.
***
It’s February, you know that. It is cold. You’re well aware.
You still insist on the beach. You drive the two of you there.
Dark. No one else is around. Just the two of you. Freezing water, little shards of ice in the sand. Snow. Pretty diamond glimmer. Thank you, moon.
You’re close. The two of you. Sitting there, him on your lap. You’re holding him. The sun. You have him in your arms.
Silent groans. Murmurs. Nothing coherent. The two of you just are there, tightly wrapped in each other, gently. Sitting on the wet sand. Your jeans are soaked.
He’s warming you.
The two of you rock gently. Brush against each other. It isn’t something friends do, the way the two of you are. It has a sexual addition in it.
You can feel his heartbeat. Hear his breathing, slightly raspy. It’s so cold that the dampness of his breaths freeze and the breath tickles your ear coldly. You wrap him closer to you. As close as you can get. His legs are around you. His hair tickles your nose and tries to get in your mouth. You wince.
You’re turned on. Your lips are numb and swollen.
The sun likes you.
Funny to be picked out by the sun. Just the sand, the meaningless little sand.
But you always were all over the place, weren’t you? Sometimes the water tried to get you. Sometimes it managed.
Your toes are freezing - you abandoned your shoes. Stupid choice you had to make. You’re a child, you don’t want to wear shoes in the beach. Or socks. Barefoot is better.
Wetter. The water tickles your toes. You gasp and groan. He clings to you harder. Your clothes are rustling against each other. You close your eyes and taste the fresh and salty air.
He pushes you down. Never leaving you, right there against your chest. There’s never relief. Just desperation until you’re too tired. The two of you. Feels impossible.
You can’t ever quite reach the sun. Not quite. It feels like it. You can feel his touch, the ghost of it through your clothes. The heat, somewhat hidden by the clothing.
You can watch what you can see. But he’s just a bit too far from your reach.
Desperately you cling to each other. Brush against each other. Give out silent little noises.
You’re getting frostbites in your toes. The water is teasing you. Stupid water.
The sun chose you.
You cry out and cling to him harder. You’re getting tired but you don’t want to let go. You’d rather fight until you fall asleep.
But the two of you can’t sleep there in the beach. You can’t stay there without your socks and shoes. You’d lose your feet.
You should let go but it’s hard. It’s hard when you’re like that, at that point. You cry out more, cry to his ear as you cling to him. His breathing is heavy and he shivers.
You bet he isn’t cold, though.
Your lips never quite touch. Sometimes almost. Maybe small brushes. Little accidents. Although you’d want to seal them. Your whole body hurts when you think about it. Mouth feels dry.
You sit up again. He’s still on your lap, somewhat limp. Tired. You run your fingers through his hair. It’s nice with its new style. He hasn’t had a hairstyle quite like that in ages. It’s nice. You just worry for his ears, stupid ears getting frostbites. Like your toes at the beach.
Timing is everything. But you can’t find your perfect moment. You bite him under his chin slightly and he closes his eyes, cocking his head back slightly in a tired but pleased manner.
The sun sure is beautiful. But the sun’s light is slightly turned down right now. So it can hide with you. The moon can cover for it for a while. You stole the sun, the selfish you.
The sun needs to see the beach.
You pout. Holding his face, you pout. He grumbles at you and pushes your chest tiredly.
You push him over. He screams when the wave wets him, the icy-cold water. You hold him in place and he curses, trying his best to gather energy to get away. Adrenaline works nicely. You still win, though.
He’s buried in the sand. You smile at him. Innocent smile. Although you’re far from innocent right now.
You wonder what you should say as another wave hits him and he shivers and yanks his body furiously. He’s cursing you to the deepest pits of hell. He sure isn’t hot anymore.
That’s good. He can’t mistake you.
You kiss him. On the lips. Nice and slow like you’ve learned. You give him time.
He kisses you back.
Then another wave hits him and he yanks up in panic again, hitting your heads together. It hurts. The two of you stumble up. He’s shivering like mad.
You take his coat off and give him yours. He accepts it, mad at you.
“Consider this a date,” you tell him with a pout on your face again, crossing your arms. He snorts.
“You have a funny idea of Valentine’s, Jin.”
You agree. Maybe it is a bit funny.
“…Jerk,” he continues, pulling you close. You bury yourself against him, the selfish little puppy you are. Maybe you’re being a bit too much of a child right now. But it doesn’t matter. The sun must’ve had a reason for picking you.
It’s cold. You start fidgeting and jumping slightly soon, teeth clattering. He laughs at you and starts pushing you towards the car.
The date is over.
Maybe you’re timing wasn’t really all that perfected after all.
When you’re at home alone, you find some chocolates stuffed in your coat’s pocket. Your eyes widen.
That ass.
***
“The sun is beautiful today, isn’t he?”
Yes. Yes he is.
***
You have your answer.
But then again, in the end timing is such a tricky thing. Maybe it requires talent in the area in question, a great amount of charisma and just the right personality for it, isn’t that so? At least that’s what you think and feel when you walk by the coastline, feet sinking in the wet sand.
You’d like to have the perfect scenery and timing; you’d like the perfect words to leave your perfected lips. That’s what you think. You’d like to be everything your person could ever even dream of.
Yet you feel like the complete opposite.
But then again, timing is everything. And you want this to be perfected; you want everything to fall neatly in its place.
You want the waves to swarm their way to both of your feet. You want the water to reach your ankles.
You want his toes to sink in the sand.
You are the sand. In your own little way. Your own tricky, little and miraculous way.
He’s the sun.
***
The snow is crispy, you conclude when it makes that crunchy sound as you step on it. Crispy is the word. And the air is… breezy.
Beautiful days of February. Beautiful days of the sun.
The snow sparkles so nicely as it reflects the sun’s shine. Little diamond glimmer.
The sun’s smile perfects the beautiful winter picture. You push him in the snow and the air leaves his lungs. He’s gasping for it under you and you can’t help but keep smirking at him. Your mischievous little smirk.
You know so much more than he does. You know you do.
He has snow on him. In his hair.
He’s a child like you are. He fits perfectly in your childish pictures. Your childish little admiration. Affection.
You stuff snow under his coat and he lets out a horrified scream. Cold. He lands a hard kick between your legs and you groan as you fall next to him, whining loudly in protest. The snow covers you. Somewhat, anyway.
He’s on his legs and kicks you. Revenge. You flung and grab his ankle, managing to make him fall over in the snow again.
Little wrestle. More diamond snow.
Crunches.
The tip of his nose is pink and so are his cheeks. But the timing isn’t right. The mood is wrong.
So you play. For it feels good to play around with him.
The sun looks beautiful in winter. It makes miracles.
Soon the sun is 24 years old.
Over eleven years of sunny days for you.
***
Funny how close you can be. How you can interact with each other. Just simply how funny it can be for the two of you to be so ridiculously close yet still so far.
You? You wouldn’t exist without him. Or at least no one would see you.
The sun is the light. The light is what you need to be visible. And on top of that, it warms you up rather nicely. Sometimes you even shine back. Reflect his curious little light.
Or maybe the curious is your own little addition.
There’s no such thing as perfect, you know. But the sun is pretty amazing isn’t it?
Everyone admires the sun.
You love the sun. So do they. But you love the sun.
The sun’s fingertips are its rays.
The sun’s rays always made you feel so warm.
You wouldn’t mind overheating either. As stupid as it sounds. You wouldn’t mind getting a bit too close to the sun.
Human body is composed of 60% water. It vaporizes in the heat.
But there is that 40%. You do have something to give to him. You do have something to offer to the sun.
The sun can burn you. It can vaporize 60% of you and burn the remaining 40%. Getting burned is okay. Chemical reactions in you caused by him. It sounds alright. It’s a bit scary but it’s alright.
Even if he’d burn you, he could never get completely rid of you. You’d stain him with your ashes. Childish but effective.
You’re in love with the sun.
You reflect him with your sunny smiles. Maybe you can shine for a bit too. Maybe you’ll be lit when he burns you.
He’s already burning you.
***
It’s February, you know that. It is cold. You’re well aware.
You still insist on the beach. You drive the two of you there.
Dark. No one else is around. Just the two of you. Freezing water, little shards of ice in the sand. Snow. Pretty diamond glimmer. Thank you, moon.
You’re close. The two of you. Sitting there, him on your lap. You’re holding him. The sun. You have him in your arms.
Silent groans. Murmurs. Nothing coherent. The two of you just are there, tightly wrapped in each other, gently. Sitting on the wet sand. Your jeans are soaked.
He’s warming you.
The two of you rock gently. Brush against each other. It isn’t something friends do, the way the two of you are. It has a sexual addition in it.
You can feel his heartbeat. Hear his breathing, slightly raspy. It’s so cold that the dampness of his breaths freeze and the breath tickles your ear coldly. You wrap him closer to you. As close as you can get. His legs are around you. His hair tickles your nose and tries to get in your mouth. You wince.
You’re turned on. Your lips are numb and swollen.
The sun likes you.
Funny to be picked out by the sun. Just the sand, the meaningless little sand.
But you always were all over the place, weren’t you? Sometimes the water tried to get you. Sometimes it managed.
Your toes are freezing - you abandoned your shoes. Stupid choice you had to make. You’re a child, you don’t want to wear shoes in the beach. Or socks. Barefoot is better.
Wetter. The water tickles your toes. You gasp and groan. He clings to you harder. Your clothes are rustling against each other. You close your eyes and taste the fresh and salty air.
He pushes you down. Never leaving you, right there against your chest. There’s never relief. Just desperation until you’re too tired. The two of you. Feels impossible.
You can’t ever quite reach the sun. Not quite. It feels like it. You can feel his touch, the ghost of it through your clothes. The heat, somewhat hidden by the clothing.
You can watch what you can see. But he’s just a bit too far from your reach.
Desperately you cling to each other. Brush against each other. Give out silent little noises.
You’re getting frostbites in your toes. The water is teasing you. Stupid water.
The sun chose you.
You cry out and cling to him harder. You’re getting tired but you don’t want to let go. You’d rather fight until you fall asleep.
But the two of you can’t sleep there in the beach. You can’t stay there without your socks and shoes. You’d lose your feet.
You should let go but it’s hard. It’s hard when you’re like that, at that point. You cry out more, cry to his ear as you cling to him. His breathing is heavy and he shivers.
You bet he isn’t cold, though.
Your lips never quite touch. Sometimes almost. Maybe small brushes. Little accidents. Although you’d want to seal them. Your whole body hurts when you think about it. Mouth feels dry.
You sit up again. He’s still on your lap, somewhat limp. Tired. You run your fingers through his hair. It’s nice with its new style. He hasn’t had a hairstyle quite like that in ages. It’s nice. You just worry for his ears, stupid ears getting frostbites. Like your toes at the beach.
Timing is everything. But you can’t find your perfect moment. You bite him under his chin slightly and he closes his eyes, cocking his head back slightly in a tired but pleased manner.
The sun sure is beautiful. But the sun’s light is slightly turned down right now. So it can hide with you. The moon can cover for it for a while. You stole the sun, the selfish you.
The sun needs to see the beach.
You pout. Holding his face, you pout. He grumbles at you and pushes your chest tiredly.
You push him over. He screams when the wave wets him, the icy-cold water. You hold him in place and he curses, trying his best to gather energy to get away. Adrenaline works nicely. You still win, though.
He’s buried in the sand. You smile at him. Innocent smile. Although you’re far from innocent right now.
You wonder what you should say as another wave hits him and he shivers and yanks his body furiously. He’s cursing you to the deepest pits of hell. He sure isn’t hot anymore.
That’s good. He can’t mistake you.
You kiss him. On the lips. Nice and slow like you’ve learned. You give him time.
He kisses you back.
Then another wave hits him and he yanks up in panic again, hitting your heads together. It hurts. The two of you stumble up. He’s shivering like mad.
You take his coat off and give him yours. He accepts it, mad at you.
“Consider this a date,” you tell him with a pout on your face again, crossing your arms. He snorts.
“You have a funny idea of Valentine’s, Jin.”
You agree. Maybe it is a bit funny.
“…Jerk,” he continues, pulling you close. You bury yourself against him, the selfish little puppy you are. Maybe you’re being a bit too much of a child right now. But it doesn’t matter. The sun must’ve had a reason for picking you.
It’s cold. You start fidgeting and jumping slightly soon, teeth clattering. He laughs at you and starts pushing you towards the car.
The date is over.
Maybe you’re timing wasn’t really all that perfected after all.
When you’re at home alone, you find some chocolates stuffed in your coat’s pocket. Your eyes widen.
That ass.
***
“The sun is beautiful today, isn’t he?”
Yes. Yes he is.
***
You have your answer.