[exo] natura non contristatur (nature is not saddened)
Title: natura non contristatur (nature is not saddened)
Pairing: Chanyeol / Baekhyun
Rating: PG
Summary: a short drabble for the aideshou challenge 03
i. prompt picture:
{natura non contristatur}
A dark dampness settles over his bare skin, the murky tinge of moss and decay filling his nose. He stumbles, legs tangling in a bush as bare toes dig into the wet ground; soft mother earth, the warm presence of gaia enveloping him with a sense of fertility and life. He pauses in his steps, stilling in silence as he tips his head back, eyes tracing the gray sky. It’s a momentous time of day where the earth tilts from darkness to light; a time where pale reflections strengthen and turn gold, painting everything with a pretty hue of opulence. It’s also a time of reminiscing, where one is allowed the stolen time to recollect lost thoughts and memories; where one is not scolded or saddened with broken opportunities and abandoned hopes.
Do you believe in forever? He remembers. They were words of a promise that had yet to be spoken; a ribbon left untied; a heart left unfulfilled; a hollow assurance of fake empathy leaving one stranded and the other forgotten. Baekhyun, will you wait for me? His heart thuds, the pain of his retained memories amplifying through his veins like a sudden drop of rhythm and tension. Knees trembling with the abrupt change of pace, his chest spasms as he desperately claws for oxygen. It’s when he snaps his head back, eyes flooding with tears and lungs expanding with air, that he realizes he has been doubled over, vision impaired from the darkness he voluntarily enveloped himself with. I’m all yours, always have been. But when will you be mine? He falls to his knees with a subtle thump, the moist dirt softening the land against his frail knees. His lips part with a silent sigh, shoulders falling as he doesn’t relent from his stance of staring up at the sky; watching with teary eyes of unshed sadness as the gray clouds shadow and slowly turn white. Blood rushes past his ears along with miscarried words of monochromatic agony.
Do you love me yet?
A nostalgic wetness drops from his skin to the ground. plip. plip. A quiet nurture of human emotion into the earth; a small payment of kindness of its harsh reality. And it’s in that moment, where the first rays of the sun pierce through the fading clouds, that the rest of his memories flood him, overwhelmingly so.
Bashful smiles and fluttering looks of timid want. A gentle brush of hands against heated skin. Stolen kisses under broken bleachers. Ingenious escapes of supervision and stupid acts of euphoria. The once youthful energy exchanged for late nights of solitude. plip. plip. Harsh bites of meaningless words. Tears of pain and broken yearning. Fist against skin; flesh against flesh. Aching knuckles and bloody sleepless nights. Heartache. plip. plip. Desperate nights of oppressed desire. Blunt nails against sensitive skin. A cut-off cry of longing. Red against white in a marring contrast of sinful lust and possession. Fingers threading through silky hair; hands entwining under bedsheets; stolen kisses under moonlit open skies. Quiet murmurs with no cruel stings of faded vengeance, and soft whispers of the times forgotten and lost.
plip. plip.
Baekhyun. I love you.
His body trembles, fingers tightening around his arms as he wraps himself into a tight bundle of lonely emotions. He wants to be lost, to be forgotten and be rid of this pain. But the past is something that cannot be erased with a bat of his lashes. No matter how much he pines and desperately runs, escaping into the overlapping shadows of nature, did he ever compromise his freedom from the invisible vices. He is haunted by his past; a time of place that contrasts his life of the present and future like day against night. So as the tears dry from his eyes, quivering lips slowly closing into a thin line, his vision finally refocuses; eyelashes blinking to clear his sight as he feels the warmth before seeing it.
A ball of golden light, a bright fire that burns a deathly hole in the sky, pokes through the crash of branches and fallen trees; finding its way towards his cradled body, as if reaching out with an attentive hand. The passionate rays of the early morning sun caresses his cheek, eyes inflamed and strained by the intensity of the light. But he doesn’t look away. Instead, he continues watching from his place on the ground, naked heels digging into the dirt as an eerie calm settles over him; abruptly putting an end to his qualms and shaken heart.
He feels the words, everything is fine, whisper across his ears; a ghosting reassurance of vague familiarity. He brings up a hand, gentle pads of cold fingers brushing over the prickle of his skin as an outline of a grin finds itself tugging at his lips.
“I found him!” a booming voice reaches his ears, startling him from his daze. He rips his gaze away from the warm fire and into recognizable eyes of frantic relief. “Baekhyun,” the familiar figure cries, warm arms encircling his stiff body, “you idiotic bastard, we take our eyes off of you for one second and you disappear.” The man frets, face covered with a thin sheen of sweat as worry outlines his youthful face; the faintest trace of a dimple scarring his thin smile. “Let’s get you back home, okay?” The scent of cleanliness and lingering taste of death stings against his nose as firm hands lift him up.
It isn’t until later, when he finds himself back under crisp white sheets and confined between pristine walls - home - that the tug of solitude and longing digs deep into his mind. As his eyes land against the fabricated whiteness of his cage, the desire to feel cool dirt under his toes, feel the chills of absolute stillness, and feel that burning ball of fire reach out for him through the darkness, intensifies.
He brings his knees up to his chest, fingers idle against a faded smile of a forgotten photo as his eyes trace the familiar outline of the face. He absentmindedly stares at the pale photograph; blind eyes searching for nothing in particular, yet for something of significance. And then, a tidal wave of drowning emotions follows his realization, eyes sparking as synapses suddenly burst with color. With a jerk, he shoves the paper evidence into the crevice of his bed; fingers pulling back with a gasp as if burned. His body trembles in alarm and convulses with nausea, the taunting words of the faceless photo swirling around him. Park Chanyeol. Deceased. With a shake of his head, teeth biting into a quivering bottom lip, he pushes the memory to the pit of his thoughts, a skill he required and mastered gracefully. But no matter how many times he tries to forget, the photo would reappear next to him the following morning; a constant reminder of the past that everyone urges for him to accept, yet he himself refuses to acknowledge.
And so, at the end of each day, he sits at the edge of the world, toes pointed down and legs hanging loose over the threshold as his eyes trace the fire that disappears beyond the horizon. Fingers splayed, thin digits of pale flesh spread open in longing, he shields his face from the harsh rays, eyes squinting in cruel attempt as words linger at the tip of his tongue; a tear finding its way and slipping past his pale cheeks in negligence.
Do you love me yet?
-end
•not sure what this is exactly ;; it's an odd result after a day of too much caffeine and writing at 4am ;;
•if you liked this please feel free to drop by aideshou around aug20 to vote!
•hope you enjoyed. and thank you for reading!