004 brighter
Brighter
PG-13(15?) | EunHae | Friendship, Angst
Summary: Most chose images over words. Not Hyukjae.
A/N: I swear I didn’t know what I was doing.
--
Somehow, everything is starting to fall into place.
The scars are almost invisible now, it’s amazing. The house is so different now since they left. I tried landscaping the garden, as well, so the view is different. My neighbors have a new babysitter. I look kind of different.
I have moved my furniture three times and redecorated so it feels a tad different here. He kept on telling me how the quilts bothered him to some extent. I dumped the old sofa and got this antique one which I really, really love since I first laid my eyes on it. It’s so wide and it fits two and it’s really, really comfortable and it suits my house.
When I tried DIY landscaping on my garden, I failed miserably and now the plants and flowers are growing on their own and they look kind of out of place. Though, I don’t mind. It seems like a really weird, colorful dump of wild flowers on a sea of green grass. The dainty housewives of the neighborhood stick up their noses when they notice it - because, I mean, with a wild dash of orange, it just screams for attention.
The new babysitter is a lot louder than Seolbin. Her name is Hyojoo, I think, and she just plays and plays with the kids on the front porch and on the lawn. It bothers me. They don’t seem to deplete of energy. She is also a lot older than Seolbin. She has those curves that Kyuhyun enjoys seeing. Touching. Or both.
My new hair is cut short. Kyuhyun told me it makes me look manlier. Also, much to Kyuhyun’s amazement, I set fire to some drafts I had been working on for a few months already. He yelled, because the deadline is near. I glare at him, because I can completely write another without breaking a sweat. Stupid Kyuyhun.
Kyuhyun gets lost in my house sometimes. He visits me during Thursdays and he can’t find things he’s looking for. All the time.
I always change whatever it is I can change.
But never the lock on my door.
--
“Hyukjae?”
Donghae navigates his way to my room and slips under my covers. I’m pretty sure he put his suitcase on the side table downstairs, his coat on my couch, his shoes on the floor of my bedroom, his wristwatch on my bedside table. His hand is immediately across my waist. He sniffs the back of my head and kisses it, and of course, he smells the vanilla scent from the shampoo I use. He moves to my neck and inhales the cucumber off my lotion.
“I missed you.”
Weeks had passed since he last went to see me.
He puts his lips on mine - the same gentle and almost-non-existent touch graces me. I begin touching his face first, because it’s beautiful, especially his eyes. He flinches when I move away slightly, looking at him intently, looking for changes and seeing none. He’s still the same Donghae.
My kiss is different, almost ravaging. I can feel him shudder as I move my way on top of him, biting, not allowing for even a sliver of air, unforgiving.
Weeks had passed since he last went to see me.
From his face, my hands travel to his neck, tightening slightly at his throat, down his chest. I tear his shirt off him, sending two or thee buttons flying.
“Hyukjae, stop…” He tries bargaining for his life. He always does. But between my subtle grinding at his crotch and his desire to talk about things he wants to talk about, there is not even a competition. Donghae always, always succumb to me. He gives in at my slightest touch, gets naked at my command, comes at my disposal.
--
He stays over. I wake him up because he’s not a morning person. I have prepared breakfast downstairs.
Mumbled, incoherent words greet me when he opens his eyes a tiny bit. He looks adorable and he looks like a rabbit so I lie down beside him, hugging him close to me, kissing the top of his head and the tip of his nose. He shakes me off and nuzzles his face on my shoulder, probably worrying about the morning breath.
I was going to let it go - to wake up him properly so we can have breakfast and he can get rid of his morning breath so he can take care of my boner afterwards. But his hand is tight across my waist, and he doesn’t let go. So my hand moves to his side, sliding to his hips, to his thighs. He jerks a little.
“Good morning, love.” I whisper and he melts into me.
Soon, he’s squirming and grasping at my shirt and my back because my hand is gently massaging his crotch to life.
--
He stares at me and I wonder what he thinks, because he smiles as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate.
“What?”
He shakes his head and smiles more as he spreads some jam on his toast. “It’s just that you look more amazing than I remember.”
I flush but I recover almost instantaneously, “I’ve always looked like this.”
Donghae flashes a smile, clearly unconvinced. He finishes his sandwich, leaving out the crust which has insufficient amount of jam. “I’ve known you for more than a decade, Hyukjae. Give me some credit.”
“Are you really going to spend the whole morning pointing out how ugly I was?” I glare at him. I’m not really as irritable when it comes to my face as long as nobody mentions it - as long as the person I sleep with doesn’t mention it. “Because, seriously, I have better things to do.”
He catches my palm and snuggles it to his face like a kitten. “Seriously? Hyukjae, you’re the only one in this room who thinks you are ugly. Or were.”
Truth.
Because over the years of friendship and fucking and being in love and falling out of it, Donghae has completely viewed me as perfection. And, over the years, as Donghae gains more and more knowledge about things he’s knowledgeable about, his view didn’t change.
--
He takes pictures and I write words. He models clay and chisels marbles while I create with ink and paper. It’s never a perfect match. He doesn’t like words because he claims ignorance. He prefers images and things with textures, saying it suffices as messages to the world.
I counter, there are more things you can do with words than with stones.
He shakes his head, leaves and comes back with his tools. Two and a half days later, he presents his masterpiece - a full-scale replica of my penis, with streaks of limestone and dolomite. I threaten to destroy it.
“I told you,” he says, chuckling, clearly amused by his wit. “Things like these speak louder than your words, Hyukjae.”
“And you chose my dick to make your point,” I tell him. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
He curtsies, and puts the head of the marbled dick to his lips, kissing it. “At least this clearly makes a point.” He smiles, clearly overjoyed by the remarkable likeness of the marbled dick to its muse, and my annoyance is overthrown by my amusement. His eyes really do sparkle, unlike any other entity that claims the ability to sparkle.
“But that doesn’t necessarily make visuals better than words.” I try making peace of out our weird debate - which always consists of the same arguments, anyway.
“Well,” he comes up to me, puts his arms and the marbled penis around my neck and pulls me closer. “I don’t exactly see why visuals aren’t better.”
There is no end to this, I figure. “Get undressed so I can fuck you.”
His stare at me lingers for a few seconds, he bites his lip and after some more moments, he carelessly threw the marbled dick to my antique red couch, and begins undressing.
I smile rather toothily and my hand automatically reaches up to hide it. “I think I’ve made my point, as well.”
When I try walking out of the undressing Donghae, he stops me, unbelieving I’ll be capable of leaving him in his condition. “Shut up and do it.”
The words stop and the actions commence. Instantly, the argument is over.
--
The wind is chilly outside and our order is taking quite a long time to arrive.
“How’s your manuscript?” Donghae asks, because he’s decent enough to not display inappropriate actions when we’re out in the open. “You should be finished by now, right?”
I let out a breath I held in for about ten seconds. “We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
He smirks, “Hyuk, you have to remember that your last book was not so popular with people. This third one has to be, like, a comeback.”
“You don’t ever read my books, so,” I give him a glare and continue, “Besides, when did you ever care about my work?”
He looks offended, which surprised me, as I was merely stating the truth. And we always say truths. “Well, I’m sorry for asking.”
It confuses me. We’ve never been in this kind of situation before. We’ve never gotten past the dirty jokes and small talks, despite the duration of our relationship. I’ve never been interested about the things he did while he’s away. Sure, it bothers me to wait. I hate it when he takes too long to come back. But I never ask him about his life; I make do of what he tells me.
Even if I want to learn more, I have always stopped myself from asking.
“Uh,” I mumble. Because maybe it’s time to start asking.
His eyes quickly searches for mine as the waiter serves us the tomato fritters he wanted. “What?”
I grab one and marvel at the batter, at the slight sweetness of the tomato, and the hint of bacon - everything else seems more important than continuing the conversation. “I’m almost done with the manuscript. Kyuhyun, uh, my new assistant, is now editing it.”
He used to be my assistant for about two years, when my only best-seller was released. He was the one who sat with me through grueling pages of crap that people liked, much to my surprise. He quit when I asked him to move in with me.
There is a smile on his face and he reaches for the last fritter, just as the waiter walks toward us with the main course.
“And,” he encourages me. “Can you tell me what it is about?”
I watch him get a piece of crab as he looks at me, expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Well,” I choose my words carefully. “It’s about self-discovery, I suppose.”
“Cliché.”
“Yes,” I respond. “It is, actually. But through someone else’s eyes. So. That’s probably it.”
He isn’t satisfied with the answer - classic Donghae. “What about the main character? What’s the name?”
I stop poking at the crab that I ever so want to eat but this conversation keeps me from it. “It’s you, basically.”
“Seen through your eyes?”
“Probably.”
He grins, feeding me a piece of crab meat he extracted from the shelly crustacean. “Does it involve sex?”
“Definitely.”
“Feelings?”
“Maybe.”
“Your feelings?”
“Possibly.”
His grin widens and he says, “Well, I like it already.”
It provokes his thoughts, and he requests me to read it to him. I tell him I don’t have a copy with me - it’s with Kyuhyun, when, in fact, I burnt the only copy that I had. So I have to recite it to him extemporaneously through memory.
Truth is that my memory tends to forget, instead of remembering. So it is a feat which is near impossible. Still, I read to him the thoughts I have of him, and in the end he kisses me once chastely on top of my head, deeply moved by the sincerity.
That night, he sleeps beside me on my bed peacefully and there wasn’t any need to do any more than touching. He resigns to grasping at my body tightly, despite my being bony. And I felt quite at peace as I can smell the vanilla from his hair, the cucumber from his skin. All these and more give me assurance that he is indeed mine, and even if he leaves tomorrow and comes back after weeks, he’d still be mine. And, consequently, he’d still come back to me.
“Hyukjae?”
“Hm?”
“If I ever die, will it be a problem?”
I stop my fingers which were running through his hair at that point, “Clearly, it would be a problem, Donghae. Clearly.”
“As in…” Donghae turns his gaze towards me, and the mellow light from my reading lamp illuminated his impeccably handsome face. “You can’t live without me?”
“As in I refuse to live without you.”
--
Kyuhyun wakes me up in the morning, I feel nauseated and disoriented. Donghae isn’t by my side.
“Hyukjae, I have great news!” Kyuhyun dashes to the window, drawing the thick grey curtains and letting the light in. “This can’t wait until you wake up so. Bestseller!”
As if that had any bearing in my life, Kyuhyun stupidly rambled about it being the best thing that has ever happened to me in five years, about my genius being restored to its full glory once again, about my not being a lame one-hit wonder, and about how personal the last book was.
I tune him out. Because at the moment, all I ever cared about is knowing whether Donghae is in the bathroom, or if he has gone back to his place again.
“Where is Donghae?”
Kyuyhun stops at his tracks, retraces them to walk closer to me, and holds my hand in his. His words are now calm, careful, and somewhat tentative. “Donghae would have been very, very proud of you, Hyukjae.”
A/N: END
PG-13(15?) | EunHae | Friendship, Angst
Summary: Most chose images over words. Not Hyukjae.
A/N: I swear I didn’t know what I was doing.
--
Somehow, everything is starting to fall into place.
The scars are almost invisible now, it’s amazing. The house is so different now since they left. I tried landscaping the garden, as well, so the view is different. My neighbors have a new babysitter. I look kind of different.
I have moved my furniture three times and redecorated so it feels a tad different here. He kept on telling me how the quilts bothered him to some extent. I dumped the old sofa and got this antique one which I really, really love since I first laid my eyes on it. It’s so wide and it fits two and it’s really, really comfortable and it suits my house.
When I tried DIY landscaping on my garden, I failed miserably and now the plants and flowers are growing on their own and they look kind of out of place. Though, I don’t mind. It seems like a really weird, colorful dump of wild flowers on a sea of green grass. The dainty housewives of the neighborhood stick up their noses when they notice it - because, I mean, with a wild dash of orange, it just screams for attention.
The new babysitter is a lot louder than Seolbin. Her name is Hyojoo, I think, and she just plays and plays with the kids on the front porch and on the lawn. It bothers me. They don’t seem to deplete of energy. She is also a lot older than Seolbin. She has those curves that Kyuhyun enjoys seeing. Touching. Or both.
My new hair is cut short. Kyuhyun told me it makes me look manlier. Also, much to Kyuhyun’s amazement, I set fire to some drafts I had been working on for a few months already. He yelled, because the deadline is near. I glare at him, because I can completely write another without breaking a sweat. Stupid Kyuyhun.
Kyuhyun gets lost in my house sometimes. He visits me during Thursdays and he can’t find things he’s looking for. All the time.
I always change whatever it is I can change.
But never the lock on my door.
--
“Hyukjae?”
Donghae navigates his way to my room and slips under my covers. I’m pretty sure he put his suitcase on the side table downstairs, his coat on my couch, his shoes on the floor of my bedroom, his wristwatch on my bedside table. His hand is immediately across my waist. He sniffs the back of my head and kisses it, and of course, he smells the vanilla scent from the shampoo I use. He moves to my neck and inhales the cucumber off my lotion.
“I missed you.”
Weeks had passed since he last went to see me.
He puts his lips on mine - the same gentle and almost-non-existent touch graces me. I begin touching his face first, because it’s beautiful, especially his eyes. He flinches when I move away slightly, looking at him intently, looking for changes and seeing none. He’s still the same Donghae.
My kiss is different, almost ravaging. I can feel him shudder as I move my way on top of him, biting, not allowing for even a sliver of air, unforgiving.
Weeks had passed since he last went to see me.
From his face, my hands travel to his neck, tightening slightly at his throat, down his chest. I tear his shirt off him, sending two or thee buttons flying.
“Hyukjae, stop…” He tries bargaining for his life. He always does. But between my subtle grinding at his crotch and his desire to talk about things he wants to talk about, there is not even a competition. Donghae always, always succumb to me. He gives in at my slightest touch, gets naked at my command, comes at my disposal.
--
He stays over. I wake him up because he’s not a morning person. I have prepared breakfast downstairs.
Mumbled, incoherent words greet me when he opens his eyes a tiny bit. He looks adorable and he looks like a rabbit so I lie down beside him, hugging him close to me, kissing the top of his head and the tip of his nose. He shakes me off and nuzzles his face on my shoulder, probably worrying about the morning breath.
I was going to let it go - to wake up him properly so we can have breakfast and he can get rid of his morning breath so he can take care of my boner afterwards. But his hand is tight across my waist, and he doesn’t let go. So my hand moves to his side, sliding to his hips, to his thighs. He jerks a little.
“Good morning, love.” I whisper and he melts into me.
Soon, he’s squirming and grasping at my shirt and my back because my hand is gently massaging his crotch to life.
--
He stares at me and I wonder what he thinks, because he smiles as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate.
“What?”
He shakes his head and smiles more as he spreads some jam on his toast. “It’s just that you look more amazing than I remember.”
I flush but I recover almost instantaneously, “I’ve always looked like this.”
Donghae flashes a smile, clearly unconvinced. He finishes his sandwich, leaving out the crust which has insufficient amount of jam. “I’ve known you for more than a decade, Hyukjae. Give me some credit.”
“Are you really going to spend the whole morning pointing out how ugly I was?” I glare at him. I’m not really as irritable when it comes to my face as long as nobody mentions it - as long as the person I sleep with doesn’t mention it. “Because, seriously, I have better things to do.”
He catches my palm and snuggles it to his face like a kitten. “Seriously? Hyukjae, you’re the only one in this room who thinks you are ugly. Or were.”
Truth.
Because over the years of friendship and fucking and being in love and falling out of it, Donghae has completely viewed me as perfection. And, over the years, as Donghae gains more and more knowledge about things he’s knowledgeable about, his view didn’t change.
--
He takes pictures and I write words. He models clay and chisels marbles while I create with ink and paper. It’s never a perfect match. He doesn’t like words because he claims ignorance. He prefers images and things with textures, saying it suffices as messages to the world.
I counter, there are more things you can do with words than with stones.
He shakes his head, leaves and comes back with his tools. Two and a half days later, he presents his masterpiece - a full-scale replica of my penis, with streaks of limestone and dolomite. I threaten to destroy it.
“I told you,” he says, chuckling, clearly amused by his wit. “Things like these speak louder than your words, Hyukjae.”
“And you chose my dick to make your point,” I tell him. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
He curtsies, and puts the head of the marbled dick to his lips, kissing it. “At least this clearly makes a point.” He smiles, clearly overjoyed by the remarkable likeness of the marbled dick to its muse, and my annoyance is overthrown by my amusement. His eyes really do sparkle, unlike any other entity that claims the ability to sparkle.
“But that doesn’t necessarily make visuals better than words.” I try making peace of out our weird debate - which always consists of the same arguments, anyway.
“Well,” he comes up to me, puts his arms and the marbled penis around my neck and pulls me closer. “I don’t exactly see why visuals aren’t better.”
There is no end to this, I figure. “Get undressed so I can fuck you.”
His stare at me lingers for a few seconds, he bites his lip and after some more moments, he carelessly threw the marbled dick to my antique red couch, and begins undressing.
I smile rather toothily and my hand automatically reaches up to hide it. “I think I’ve made my point, as well.”
When I try walking out of the undressing Donghae, he stops me, unbelieving I’ll be capable of leaving him in his condition. “Shut up and do it.”
The words stop and the actions commence. Instantly, the argument is over.
--
The wind is chilly outside and our order is taking quite a long time to arrive.
“How’s your manuscript?” Donghae asks, because he’s decent enough to not display inappropriate actions when we’re out in the open. “You should be finished by now, right?”
I let out a breath I held in for about ten seconds. “We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
He smirks, “Hyuk, you have to remember that your last book was not so popular with people. This third one has to be, like, a comeback.”
“You don’t ever read my books, so,” I give him a glare and continue, “Besides, when did you ever care about my work?”
He looks offended, which surprised me, as I was merely stating the truth. And we always say truths. “Well, I’m sorry for asking.”
It confuses me. We’ve never been in this kind of situation before. We’ve never gotten past the dirty jokes and small talks, despite the duration of our relationship. I’ve never been interested about the things he did while he’s away. Sure, it bothers me to wait. I hate it when he takes too long to come back. But I never ask him about his life; I make do of what he tells me.
Even if I want to learn more, I have always stopped myself from asking.
“Uh,” I mumble. Because maybe it’s time to start asking.
His eyes quickly searches for mine as the waiter serves us the tomato fritters he wanted. “What?”
I grab one and marvel at the batter, at the slight sweetness of the tomato, and the hint of bacon - everything else seems more important than continuing the conversation. “I’m almost done with the manuscript. Kyuhyun, uh, my new assistant, is now editing it.”
He used to be my assistant for about two years, when my only best-seller was released. He was the one who sat with me through grueling pages of crap that people liked, much to my surprise. He quit when I asked him to move in with me.
There is a smile on his face and he reaches for the last fritter, just as the waiter walks toward us with the main course.
“And,” he encourages me. “Can you tell me what it is about?”
I watch him get a piece of crab as he looks at me, expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Well,” I choose my words carefully. “It’s about self-discovery, I suppose.”
“Cliché.”
“Yes,” I respond. “It is, actually. But through someone else’s eyes. So. That’s probably it.”
He isn’t satisfied with the answer - classic Donghae. “What about the main character? What’s the name?”
I stop poking at the crab that I ever so want to eat but this conversation keeps me from it. “It’s you, basically.”
“Seen through your eyes?”
“Probably.”
He grins, feeding me a piece of crab meat he extracted from the shelly crustacean. “Does it involve sex?”
“Definitely.”
“Feelings?”
“Maybe.”
“Your feelings?”
“Possibly.”
His grin widens and he says, “Well, I like it already.”
It provokes his thoughts, and he requests me to read it to him. I tell him I don’t have a copy with me - it’s with Kyuhyun, when, in fact, I burnt the only copy that I had. So I have to recite it to him extemporaneously through memory.
Truth is that my memory tends to forget, instead of remembering. So it is a feat which is near impossible. Still, I read to him the thoughts I have of him, and in the end he kisses me once chastely on top of my head, deeply moved by the sincerity.
That night, he sleeps beside me on my bed peacefully and there wasn’t any need to do any more than touching. He resigns to grasping at my body tightly, despite my being bony. And I felt quite at peace as I can smell the vanilla from his hair, the cucumber from his skin. All these and more give me assurance that he is indeed mine, and even if he leaves tomorrow and comes back after weeks, he’d still be mine. And, consequently, he’d still come back to me.
“Hyukjae?”
“Hm?”
“If I ever die, will it be a problem?”
I stop my fingers which were running through his hair at that point, “Clearly, it would be a problem, Donghae. Clearly.”
“As in…” Donghae turns his gaze towards me, and the mellow light from my reading lamp illuminated his impeccably handsome face. “You can’t live without me?”
“As in I refuse to live without you.”
--
Kyuhyun wakes me up in the morning, I feel nauseated and disoriented. Donghae isn’t by my side.
“Hyukjae, I have great news!” Kyuhyun dashes to the window, drawing the thick grey curtains and letting the light in. “This can’t wait until you wake up so. Bestseller!”
As if that had any bearing in my life, Kyuhyun stupidly rambled about it being the best thing that has ever happened to me in five years, about my genius being restored to its full glory once again, about my not being a lame one-hit wonder, and about how personal the last book was.
I tune him out. Because at the moment, all I ever cared about is knowing whether Donghae is in the bathroom, or if he has gone back to his place again.
“Where is Donghae?”
Kyuyhun stops at his tracks, retraces them to walk closer to me, and holds my hand in his. His words are now calm, careful, and somewhat tentative. “Donghae would have been very, very proud of you, Hyukjae.”
A/N: END