Coexist (4/8): metal and dust
Coexist (4/8): metal and dust
669w, G
Krystal/Kai
a.n: idk man I just don't want this to expire(?) from sitting too long as a draft. also sobs sorry this is the shortest one by far :( ALSO it's so late, I know :((
She smiles around to each of the flashing lights, not being able to see the huge, obnoxious lenses below those blinding lights. Through her dress, she feels a sensation of heat-or extreme coldness, she doesn’t even know-from the hand sliding along the back line of her hips and fingers resting on her hips softly. It’s not real, the heat. She knows. But the feeling that pricks her always gets sharper each time.
She looks to her right and tilts her head up a little to see his face. She looks at his eyes, those orbs of dark brown looking back at her. She fights the urge to search in those eyes for something-anything-aside from The Textbook Stare of a Husband Falling in Love for the Thousandth Time Over with His Beloved Wife. Instead, she scans his features-his nose, his thick lips, his perfect bone structure, the strands of hair arching above his forehead-and finds again, for the thousandth time, that he’s perfect. And so is she, so they say.
Perfections are meant to be with their own kind to form a whole other level of perfection; is what they always say about them.
“I won’t be home tomorrow night. I have a shoot that starts late and another one the next morning. You’ll be okay having dinner alone?”
“I’m used to it,” the man across her says, answering her statement and question while focusing on his food.
Silence.
“Don’t,” Soojung forces out, voice coming out along with a small sigh.
“What did I do?” He says, head tilting up a little from its initial position facing down towards the plate, so he can see the eyes of the woman across the table.
“Don’t play victim,” she makes eye contact for a split second then turns her sight back to the knife and fork in her hands, cutting her food. The look of exasperation is visible on her pretty Million Dollar Face.
He stabs the last cut of meat on his plate and puts it in his mouth. “I’m not the one who barely even spends the night at my own home,” he says as he finishes chewing and reaches for the glass of water to his right.
“I have work, Jongin.” The said man stops swallowing water for a moment, mouth of the glass still sitting between his lips, before continuing to have one last gulp of the liquid. “And I would know how to be home more if only you-“
She is cut with a clink from the glass in the man’s hand being set down on the table. “I finished my dinner,” he says before grabbing the coat on the hanger next to the door and heading out.
“If only you hadn’t spent the first year of our marriage working, too, like I am now,” she whispers to herself in the hollowness of the apartment.
Soojung is lying awake on her side just staring at the closed curtains at midnight for the n-th time that month. Her mind goes back and forth; from the color pink, bright spiraling strands of lights, and adrenaline rushes, to distances, expectations, and gray-dull and sickening gray.
She sits up, carefully, not to wake the person still breathing soft even breaths on the other side of the bed. Taking silent steps, she walks over to the dressing table and opens the middle drawer to pull out a packet of cigarette and a purple lighter. She goes out of the room and into the living room, opens the door to the balcony, and leans on the not-quite-silver steel railing. Her slender fingers flip the pack in her left hand open and pull a cigarette to her lips. She puts the packet on the railing; left thumb then grazes over the trigger on the lighter until a warm flicker of fire lights up shakily from being blown by the night breeze.
Inhales.
Exhales a sparse body of light gray smoke.
Trying to drown gray with gray.
669w, G
Krystal/Kai
a.n: idk man I just don't want this to expire(?) from sitting too long as a draft. also sobs sorry this is the shortest one by far :( ALSO it's so late, I know :((
She smiles around to each of the flashing lights, not being able to see the huge, obnoxious lenses below those blinding lights. Through her dress, she feels a sensation of heat-or extreme coldness, she doesn’t even know-from the hand sliding along the back line of her hips and fingers resting on her hips softly. It’s not real, the heat. She knows. But the feeling that pricks her always gets sharper each time.
She looks to her right and tilts her head up a little to see his face. She looks at his eyes, those orbs of dark brown looking back at her. She fights the urge to search in those eyes for something-anything-aside from The Textbook Stare of a Husband Falling in Love for the Thousandth Time Over with His Beloved Wife. Instead, she scans his features-his nose, his thick lips, his perfect bone structure, the strands of hair arching above his forehead-and finds again, for the thousandth time, that he’s perfect. And so is she, so they say.
Perfections are meant to be with their own kind to form a whole other level of perfection; is what they always say about them.
“I won’t be home tomorrow night. I have a shoot that starts late and another one the next morning. You’ll be okay having dinner alone?”
“I’m used to it,” the man across her says, answering her statement and question while focusing on his food.
Silence.
“Don’t,” Soojung forces out, voice coming out along with a small sigh.
“What did I do?” He says, head tilting up a little from its initial position facing down towards the plate, so he can see the eyes of the woman across the table.
“Don’t play victim,” she makes eye contact for a split second then turns her sight back to the knife and fork in her hands, cutting her food. The look of exasperation is visible on her pretty Million Dollar Face.
He stabs the last cut of meat on his plate and puts it in his mouth. “I’m not the one who barely even spends the night at my own home,” he says as he finishes chewing and reaches for the glass of water to his right.
“I have work, Jongin.” The said man stops swallowing water for a moment, mouth of the glass still sitting between his lips, before continuing to have one last gulp of the liquid. “And I would know how to be home more if only you-“
She is cut with a clink from the glass in the man’s hand being set down on the table. “I finished my dinner,” he says before grabbing the coat on the hanger next to the door and heading out.
“If only you hadn’t spent the first year of our marriage working, too, like I am now,” she whispers to herself in the hollowness of the apartment.
Soojung is lying awake on her side just staring at the closed curtains at midnight for the n-th time that month. Her mind goes back and forth; from the color pink, bright spiraling strands of lights, and adrenaline rushes, to distances, expectations, and gray-dull and sickening gray.
She sits up, carefully, not to wake the person still breathing soft even breaths on the other side of the bed. Taking silent steps, she walks over to the dressing table and opens the middle drawer to pull out a packet of cigarette and a purple lighter. She goes out of the room and into the living room, opens the door to the balcony, and leans on the not-quite-silver steel railing. Her slender fingers flip the pack in her left hand open and pull a cigarette to her lips. She puts the packet on the railing; left thumb then grazes over the trigger on the lighter until a warm flicker of fire lights up shakily from being blown by the night breeze.
Inhales.
Exhales a sparse body of light gray smoke.
Trying to drown gray with gray.