spoiled sunflower; jaesu; AU
spoiled sunflower.
jaesu; 260words; au
a/n: the end of something that refused to be written.
this is what death looks like. junsu rests his head on jaejoong's shoulder, heavy and cold. isn't it beautiful? his voice is light, a lot like the wind with its subtle and whispery nature. jaejoong is used to the loud sunflower he met, deceptive living thing, bright like happiness. like.
junsu, who dances, smiles, laughs in the direction of the sky, the sun. east to west, day after day he dances, and jaejoong thinks this is one dance he can dance forever, has never felt so immortal.
junsu, who is beautiful even after he cries, stripped of his shell (after the rain, after he blooms).
he knows what it's like to kiss sunshine. kiss in a bed of sunflowers. live, laugh, and love there. he knows what it's like to be gentler than he's ever been. stems look stronger than they actually are. don't hurt the sunflowers. they're weaker than their proud, happy faces make them seem.
so here they are (and always will be, jaejoong wishes), in a field of wild, free sunflowers. he can feel the cutting wind, junsu's sharp inhale against his neck. still with me, su?
hurts. the smile on his face doesn't match his words.
it's autumn. and they sing their quiet song together.
and soon the spirit of the sunflower is gone. gone until spring renews him, rebirth. sunflower heads grow heavy with sun, with love. spoiled me and now i'm rotting, junsu had told him, laughing when jaejoong didn't feel laughter was appropriate.
he hates spreading sunflower seeds, feels like he's spreading ashes.
jaesu; 260words; au
a/n: the end of something that refused to be written.
this is what death looks like. junsu rests his head on jaejoong's shoulder, heavy and cold. isn't it beautiful? his voice is light, a lot like the wind with its subtle and whispery nature. jaejoong is used to the loud sunflower he met, deceptive living thing, bright like happiness. like.
junsu, who dances, smiles, laughs in the direction of the sky, the sun. east to west, day after day he dances, and jaejoong thinks this is one dance he can dance forever, has never felt so immortal.
junsu, who is beautiful even after he cries, stripped of his shell (after the rain, after he blooms).
he knows what it's like to kiss sunshine. kiss in a bed of sunflowers. live, laugh, and love there. he knows what it's like to be gentler than he's ever been. stems look stronger than they actually are. don't hurt the sunflowers. they're weaker than their proud, happy faces make them seem.
so here they are (and always will be, jaejoong wishes), in a field of wild, free sunflowers. he can feel the cutting wind, junsu's sharp inhale against his neck. still with me, su?
hurts. the smile on his face doesn't match his words.
it's autumn. and they sing their quiet song together.
and soon the spirit of the sunflower is gone. gone until spring renews him, rebirth. sunflower heads grow heavy with sun, with love. spoiled me and now i'm rotting, junsu had told him, laughing when jaejoong didn't feel laughter was appropriate.
he hates spreading sunflower seeds, feels like he's spreading ashes.