[SHINee] (old) Soaring
soaring
minho/onew; pg; ~650w
their love probably doesn't make sense but they could care less.
Minho isn’t exactly an expert on love and the arts of romance-the wooing and the love notes and the poetry and the flowers and all that mushy gunk that the SNSD noonas gush over in their silly magazines. But when it comes to Onew he doesn’t really have to think about that kind of stuff-actually when it comes to Onew, Minho can barely think at all. But when he hears Onew’s laughter ringing like clear bells, Minho’s heart feels light and he takes off soaring, bringing Onew with him, their hands intertwined.
Their love is not-so-accidentally brushing shoulders when they’re ready to go on stage, and Onew knowing that even if Minho doesn’t turn to him directly, the younger is constantly watching him out of the corner of his eye and that makes Onew feel safe.
Sometimes Minho doesn’t have to speak words. Instead he paints images in Onew’s head through his intense gazes and his rare gorgeous smiles that make Onew feel like his heart is about to burst from an overflow of emotion. He presses his hands against Minho’s heart, feels it hammer in his chest, and Minho places his larger hands over Onew’s. Onew looks up at the younger and leans in resting their foreheads together, tips of noses touching lightly, and Minho tells their story in his eyes and Onew watches absolutely smitten.
Their love is Onew lightly tracing patterns on Minho’s chest and whispering words he shouldn’t say and Minho closing his eyes as Onew comes closer and smiling against Minho’s lips refusing to give in until the corners of Minho’s smile matches up with his own.
Sometimes Onew doesn’t have the right words to say. So he’ll place Minho in his lap and sing a song that has no words and Minho listens, completely enraptured. Onew’s lack of words strike chords in Minho’s soul and he falls completely under Onew’s spell, allowing the older to wash him away with his soft voice sent from heaven, and Minho hums along to a melody that only makes sense to them. When Onew finishes, Minho claps lightly, already knowing that the heat in Onew’s body has rushed up to his cheeks. Minho reaches with his long arms and strokes Onew’s skin delicately and Onew closes his eyes and sighs in content.
Their love is Onew crawling into Minho’s bed at two o’clock in the morning and Minho wrapping his arms around the leader’s small form and feeling Onew’s chest rise up and down, the steadiness of his breathing lulling him to sleep as Onew involuntarily curls up closer to his body.
Sometimes they don’t say “I love you” out loud every day. But they don’t really have to because Onew knows when Minho leaves him tea at night to keep him up while he’s studying, Onew knows when Minho gets the others to shut up while he’s trying to be leader with his silent glare; and Minho knows when Onew pulls at his hand so he doesn’t get left behind, Minho knows when Onew searches online for hours for English copies of his favorite books.
I love you, Onew manages to whisper shyly in the dark of the van when everyone else is asleep. Minho smiles and pats his knee. I know hyung, I know.
Their love probably, and understandably, doesn’t make sense because everything they do they say, it just doesn’t add up. But they don’t care, it doesn’t matter, because all that they do, all that they say, matters to them with the painting they can only see and the song they can only hear, and that’s about as much as they can ask for. And it’s fine.
Because sometimes Onew feels weighted by the pressure and wants to crawl up in a ball and hide from his clouds of worry, but Minho’s hand shoots out the clouds like a beam of sunshine, and they’re soaring again, their hands intertwined, never letting go.
minho/onew; pg; ~650w
their love probably doesn't make sense but they could care less.
Minho isn’t exactly an expert on love and the arts of romance-the wooing and the love notes and the poetry and the flowers and all that mushy gunk that the SNSD noonas gush over in their silly magazines. But when it comes to Onew he doesn’t really have to think about that kind of stuff-actually when it comes to Onew, Minho can barely think at all. But when he hears Onew’s laughter ringing like clear bells, Minho’s heart feels light and he takes off soaring, bringing Onew with him, their hands intertwined.
Their love is not-so-accidentally brushing shoulders when they’re ready to go on stage, and Onew knowing that even if Minho doesn’t turn to him directly, the younger is constantly watching him out of the corner of his eye and that makes Onew feel safe.
Sometimes Minho doesn’t have to speak words. Instead he paints images in Onew’s head through his intense gazes and his rare gorgeous smiles that make Onew feel like his heart is about to burst from an overflow of emotion. He presses his hands against Minho’s heart, feels it hammer in his chest, and Minho places his larger hands over Onew’s. Onew looks up at the younger and leans in resting their foreheads together, tips of noses touching lightly, and Minho tells their story in his eyes and Onew watches absolutely smitten.
Their love is Onew lightly tracing patterns on Minho’s chest and whispering words he shouldn’t say and Minho closing his eyes as Onew comes closer and smiling against Minho’s lips refusing to give in until the corners of Minho’s smile matches up with his own.
Sometimes Onew doesn’t have the right words to say. So he’ll place Minho in his lap and sing a song that has no words and Minho listens, completely enraptured. Onew’s lack of words strike chords in Minho’s soul and he falls completely under Onew’s spell, allowing the older to wash him away with his soft voice sent from heaven, and Minho hums along to a melody that only makes sense to them. When Onew finishes, Minho claps lightly, already knowing that the heat in Onew’s body has rushed up to his cheeks. Minho reaches with his long arms and strokes Onew’s skin delicately and Onew closes his eyes and sighs in content.
Their love is Onew crawling into Minho’s bed at two o’clock in the morning and Minho wrapping his arms around the leader’s small form and feeling Onew’s chest rise up and down, the steadiness of his breathing lulling him to sleep as Onew involuntarily curls up closer to his body.
Sometimes they don’t say “I love you” out loud every day. But they don’t really have to because Onew knows when Minho leaves him tea at night to keep him up while he’s studying, Onew knows when Minho gets the others to shut up while he’s trying to be leader with his silent glare; and Minho knows when Onew pulls at his hand so he doesn’t get left behind, Minho knows when Onew searches online for hours for English copies of his favorite books.
I love you, Onew manages to whisper shyly in the dark of the van when everyone else is asleep. Minho smiles and pats his knee. I know hyung, I know.
Their love probably, and understandably, doesn’t make sense because everything they do they say, it just doesn’t add up. But they don’t care, it doesn’t matter, because all that they do, all that they say, matters to them with the painting they can only see and the song they can only hear, and that’s about as much as they can ask for. And it’s fine.
Because sometimes Onew feels weighted by the pressure and wants to crawl up in a ball and hide from his clouds of worry, but Minho’s hand shoots out the clouds like a beam of sunshine, and they’re soaring again, their hands intertwined, never letting go.