SuJu 100 fics: 043. Washing Machines, Donghae/Shiwon
Author: Risabet
Title: 043. Washing machines, Donghae/Shiwon
Rating: PG-13, and contains themes that some might find upsetting (sorry, I don't want to give the plot away)
Disclaimer: I am in no way related to these people, only the story is mine. The lyrics used are written by and belong to Sufjan Stevens.
Fic count: 12/100
Goldenrod and the 4H stone
the things I brought you
when I found out you had cancer of the bone
When Donghae's father passes away Shiwon can't sleep. It's the night before they find out, the night when it happens, the last night ever for the world to be whole for one of them and Shiwon can't sleep because he knows without knowing it. When the phone rings six hours later he presses his face against the worn-out pillowcase and cries, shaking away Shindong's questioning hand, because less than ten metres away there's a shoulder that needs the comforting warmth far more desperately than his ever will.
Three nights later Shiwon falls asleep with the backlights of the car etched inside his eyelids. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and watches them disappear into the horizon.
He wakes up a minute later to sit by Donghae's bed, hands clutching a withering yellow flower as the younger boy looks out of the window and bites his lower lip absenmindedly. The only common language they find is silence.
Your father cried on the telephone
and he drove his car to the navy yard
just to prove that he was sorry
Shiwon stands in the long, white corridor and listens, the receiver heavy and cold in his hands. It should have been me, is what he hears, and Shiwon feels unsure, thinking but it was, wasn't it? But the moment passes and the corridor stretches out into a distant far-off where no one needs to leave too soon. Seagulls scream and Shiwon realizes they must be crying over those who didn't get here on time.
In the morning, through the window shade
when the light pressed up against your shoulder blade
I could see what you were reading
Donghae isn't the type to get up early and Shiwon isn't the type to sleep in, but it doesn't matter, they find out. It doesn't matter when Donghae picks up the book Shiwon has left lying on the carpet earlier and it doesn't matter when he sits by the open window, leafing through the pages, wearing only the light that falls upon him. It doesn't matter because the Sun is up and neither one of them has fallen asleep yet.
All the glory that the Lord has made
and the complications you could do without
when I kissed you on the neck
"Do you think we'll be punished?"
"No one ever punished anyone for something as good as this." A soft sigh, a memory of hot white anger and red hot hatred.
"Don't be too sure about that."
Tuesday night at the Bible study
we lift our hands and pray over your body
but nothing ever happens
It's unfair, Shiwon wants to scream, but he doesn't, not with his father by him, not with his mother on the other side. Unfair. Donghae breathes lightly through the oxygen mask in front of his eyes and he refuses to hear what the minister has to say, refuses to see the lit candles, refuses when there are things much more important to focus on.
"Maybe I should start calling you oppa instead of hyung," Donghae smiles from his spot, perched on the edge of the washing machine.
"Hm? Why's that?" Shiwon pulls out the wet laundry, thoughts consumed by the whites ruined by a single blue.
"Just because I could."
I remember at Michael's house
in the living room when you kissed my mouth
and I almost touched your blouse
Clumsy, so clumsy and a little more than a little embarrassing, but so sweet and innocent and right. Lips pressed together, cheeks burning, eyes darting to make sure no one else will see, hearts beating and words gone like so many times before and after that one time.
So right.
In the morning at the top of the stairs
when your father found out what we did that night
and you told me you were scared
Donghae leans his back against the wall and Shiwon stands in front of him, taking the blame and the harsh movements of the palm thrown forward in anger without thinking first and Shiwon wonders why it is so difficult for him to hold onto words, words that always slip past him and disappear, save it for those that he sees clearly written in tears across Donghae's face.
All the glory when you ran outside
with your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied
and you told me not to follow you
They fight, just like Shiwon knew they would. They fight and knowledge only makes things worse. He locks himself into the bathroom, despite the loud protests he hears from outside the door and he does the laundry, only whites, only pure whites with no blues among them.
Sunday night when I cleaned the house
I find the card where you wrote it out
with the pictures of your mother
Donghae had been taken to the hospital nine and a half hours ago, his body light and frail, much like Shiwon's mind. No one had had the time to pack a bag for him and Shiwon hates them for not thinking of it, like Donghae wouldn't need one.
Eeteuk finds Shiwon four hours later, sitting on the bed with no lights on, an old photo on his lap and Eeteuk says nothing because of the childish, familiar handwriting lining the figures of the picture.
On the floor at the great divide
with my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom
There's always laundry to do, always without an exception, thirteen times the amount of dirty clothes that there could be. No, not thirteen, Shiwon corrects himself as he stares dully into the whirlpool of jeans and t-shirts through his tears, not thirteen but twelve. The fabric that has touched Donghae's skin is only clean, clean, clean.
In the morning when you finally go
and the nurse runs in with her head hung low
and the cardinal hits the window
Heechul's sobs flow as a river into ten seas of agony, for Mrs. Lee there'll be no tomorrow and Mr. Lee reaches his hand out to grab Shiwon's arm, his touch rough and yet well-meaning, but Shiwon feels nothing. He's gotten here, but he's late, late, late. Moments have passed, are passing as they stand there and bleed, but only one person in the room has arrived at a destination on time.
In the morning, in the winter shade
on the first of March on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing
But memories only ever were that one time before becoming what they now are.
All the glory that the Lord has made
and the complications when I see His face
in the morning in the window
Shiwon wakes up twelve hours after the lights of the car have disappeared from his view as Yesung enters the room without knocking.
"Heechul called, they got to Mokpo okay. Things aren't exactly good, but Donghae is doing okay, given... given it all. Thought you'd like to know." Shiwon blinks.
"Thank you, Jongwoon."
All the glory when he took our place
but he took my shoulders and he shook my face
and he takes and he takes and he takes
Four days later Shiwon wakes as the phone rings, rings and screams and whines, eager to bring them another tide that will sweep them out to the sea and leave them as it sees fit. Crying, Shiwon presses his face against Donghae's pillowcase and he gives and he gives and he gives but he wonders whether it will ever be enough.
----------------------------------
Notes: It's confusing and kind of bad and I'm sorry, I'm unbelievably sleepy right now but this plotbunny wouldn't leave me be.
The lyrics are by the amazingly talented Sufjan Stevens whom I respect and fangirl over. The song is called 'Casimir Pulaski Day' and it can be found on the album 'Illinois', one of my favourite albums ever.
(Also, still working on WordPad = no word count. Sorry.)
Title: 043. Washing machines, Donghae/Shiwon
Rating: PG-13, and contains themes that some might find upsetting (sorry, I don't want to give the plot away)
Disclaimer: I am in no way related to these people, only the story is mine. The lyrics used are written by and belong to Sufjan Stevens.
Fic count: 12/100
Goldenrod and the 4H stone
the things I brought you
when I found out you had cancer of the bone
When Donghae's father passes away Shiwon can't sleep. It's the night before they find out, the night when it happens, the last night ever for the world to be whole for one of them and Shiwon can't sleep because he knows without knowing it. When the phone rings six hours later he presses his face against the worn-out pillowcase and cries, shaking away Shindong's questioning hand, because less than ten metres away there's a shoulder that needs the comforting warmth far more desperately than his ever will.
Three nights later Shiwon falls asleep with the backlights of the car etched inside his eyelids. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and watches them disappear into the horizon.
He wakes up a minute later to sit by Donghae's bed, hands clutching a withering yellow flower as the younger boy looks out of the window and bites his lower lip absenmindedly. The only common language they find is silence.
Your father cried on the telephone
and he drove his car to the navy yard
just to prove that he was sorry
Shiwon stands in the long, white corridor and listens, the receiver heavy and cold in his hands. It should have been me, is what he hears, and Shiwon feels unsure, thinking but it was, wasn't it? But the moment passes and the corridor stretches out into a distant far-off where no one needs to leave too soon. Seagulls scream and Shiwon realizes they must be crying over those who didn't get here on time.
In the morning, through the window shade
when the light pressed up against your shoulder blade
I could see what you were reading
Donghae isn't the type to get up early and Shiwon isn't the type to sleep in, but it doesn't matter, they find out. It doesn't matter when Donghae picks up the book Shiwon has left lying on the carpet earlier and it doesn't matter when he sits by the open window, leafing through the pages, wearing only the light that falls upon him. It doesn't matter because the Sun is up and neither one of them has fallen asleep yet.
All the glory that the Lord has made
and the complications you could do without
when I kissed you on the neck
"Do you think we'll be punished?"
"No one ever punished anyone for something as good as this." A soft sigh, a memory of hot white anger and red hot hatred.
"Don't be too sure about that."
Tuesday night at the Bible study
we lift our hands and pray over your body
but nothing ever happens
It's unfair, Shiwon wants to scream, but he doesn't, not with his father by him, not with his mother on the other side. Unfair. Donghae breathes lightly through the oxygen mask in front of his eyes and he refuses to hear what the minister has to say, refuses to see the lit candles, refuses when there are things much more important to focus on.
"Maybe I should start calling you oppa instead of hyung," Donghae smiles from his spot, perched on the edge of the washing machine.
"Hm? Why's that?" Shiwon pulls out the wet laundry, thoughts consumed by the whites ruined by a single blue.
"Just because I could."
I remember at Michael's house
in the living room when you kissed my mouth
and I almost touched your blouse
Clumsy, so clumsy and a little more than a little embarrassing, but so sweet and innocent and right. Lips pressed together, cheeks burning, eyes darting to make sure no one else will see, hearts beating and words gone like so many times before and after that one time.
So right.
In the morning at the top of the stairs
when your father found out what we did that night
and you told me you were scared
Donghae leans his back against the wall and Shiwon stands in front of him, taking the blame and the harsh movements of the palm thrown forward in anger without thinking first and Shiwon wonders why it is so difficult for him to hold onto words, words that always slip past him and disappear, save it for those that he sees clearly written in tears across Donghae's face.
All the glory when you ran outside
with your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied
and you told me not to follow you
They fight, just like Shiwon knew they would. They fight and knowledge only makes things worse. He locks himself into the bathroom, despite the loud protests he hears from outside the door and he does the laundry, only whites, only pure whites with no blues among them.
Sunday night when I cleaned the house
I find the card where you wrote it out
with the pictures of your mother
Donghae had been taken to the hospital nine and a half hours ago, his body light and frail, much like Shiwon's mind. No one had had the time to pack a bag for him and Shiwon hates them for not thinking of it, like Donghae wouldn't need one.
Eeteuk finds Shiwon four hours later, sitting on the bed with no lights on, an old photo on his lap and Eeteuk says nothing because of the childish, familiar handwriting lining the figures of the picture.
On the floor at the great divide
with my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom
There's always laundry to do, always without an exception, thirteen times the amount of dirty clothes that there could be. No, not thirteen, Shiwon corrects himself as he stares dully into the whirlpool of jeans and t-shirts through his tears, not thirteen but twelve. The fabric that has touched Donghae's skin is only clean, clean, clean.
In the morning when you finally go
and the nurse runs in with her head hung low
and the cardinal hits the window
Heechul's sobs flow as a river into ten seas of agony, for Mrs. Lee there'll be no tomorrow and Mr. Lee reaches his hand out to grab Shiwon's arm, his touch rough and yet well-meaning, but Shiwon feels nothing. He's gotten here, but he's late, late, late. Moments have passed, are passing as they stand there and bleed, but only one person in the room has arrived at a destination on time.
In the morning, in the winter shade
on the first of March on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing
But memories only ever were that one time before becoming what they now are.
All the glory that the Lord has made
and the complications when I see His face
in the morning in the window
Shiwon wakes up twelve hours after the lights of the car have disappeared from his view as Yesung enters the room without knocking.
"Heechul called, they got to Mokpo okay. Things aren't exactly good, but Donghae is doing okay, given... given it all. Thought you'd like to know." Shiwon blinks.
"Thank you, Jongwoon."
All the glory when he took our place
but he took my shoulders and he shook my face
and he takes and he takes and he takes
Four days later Shiwon wakes as the phone rings, rings and screams and whines, eager to bring them another tide that will sweep them out to the sea and leave them as it sees fit. Crying, Shiwon presses his face against Donghae's pillowcase and he gives and he gives and he gives but he wonders whether it will ever be enough.
----------------------------------
Notes: It's confusing and kind of bad and I'm sorry, I'm unbelievably sleepy right now but this plotbunny wouldn't leave me be.
The lyrics are by the amazingly talented Sufjan Stevens whom I respect and fangirl over. The song is called 'Casimir Pulaski Day' and it can be found on the album 'Illinois', one of my favourite albums ever.
(Also, still working on WordPad = no word count. Sorry.)