âIâll never forgive you if you let this be the last time I see you,â you said, his tears staining your cheeks and yours his, hands clasped together as in silent prayer.
You were both on your knees, simple mortals cursing mighty gods for what you deemed to be their faulty decisions. Moisture coming from the earth and sipping through layers of fabric to reach skin, to remind you of the cold fragility of your bodies that were in fact just bodies.
âIâll never forgive myself,â Hyunjin mused. Who was really at fault? The gods for not playing in your favour or all of you, every human whoâd greedily decided that titles and hierarchies had a say in love?
Who to blame? Who to despise for how things had worked out if not himself for being who he was? Who to openly show his heartbreak to if not the lake, the trees and the moss? Who to fill the gap in his chest if not you?
You stood up and his palms were called to the dirt beneath him; he laid pressed against the ground in a reverent bow as you walked away. It had been a punishment to have only the moonlight to try and make out your features under but it was a gift now that it hid the figure of a king bowing at the feet of someone whose name nobody would recognise.
II. Lacus
There was always dirt at the height of his knees on his robes, always stains of grass pressed flat against the ground against their will. Beside the lake hidden in between trees there was a permanent indent from where he kneeled everyday to pray, tips of his fingers always dipped into the crystalline water.
There were his duties and his pressing desires, his rituals, his needs, his unspoken wishes. There were a million stars up in the night sky and the reflection on the water heâd always stare at. There was the life he lived out of respect and fear and the life heâd always fantasise beside the body of water.
There was a title, heavy on his shoulders and more burdensome than it could ever be helpful. There was this small gap the world had forgotten to fill with strict rules and expectations, and only there was Hyunjin, the human, the man, the lover.
Everything and nothing colliding, disdain and adoration meeting at a crossroad and stopping to contemplate the sight together, who he was and who he was supposed to be parting ways and silently asking not to ever see each other again.
You and him, bowing, praying, tips of fingers dipped in the water, stained fabric at the mercy of your knees. Two permanent indents on the ground.
III. Lacuna
The return of spring marked a year since the night Hyunjin promised to hold onto you in spite of the world. A year and the gap within himself had grown so large, taken so much space that his heart barely fitted inside his body; so he turned to you and without wavering left his heart in your hands.
He took a step towards the lake and then two more; he begged you to give him a minute and silently apologised for the year youâd already given him so willingly. He walked further ahead, stopping only when the water caressed his chin.
There was something here, something more than just his hopes and endless prayers. Everytime he touched the water he could feel it on its tender caress and the ruthless cold that reminded him of his own aliveness as well as the lakeâs.
âWait!â Your voice came from behind, much louder than he ever remembered having heard it, much more urgent than all the times you had asked him to love you.
Hyunjin did not turn around but he heard the splashing of the water taking you in, of the struggle your attempt to reach him fast caused. He did not turn around but he knew that both your hands were busy as you swam forward, in one you were holding his heart and in the other your very own.
You could feel it too, of that he was certain, you could feel the lake come to life with every touch and every star reflecting on its surface. You could feel it now, how it almost cradled your bodies in place, not wanting for you two to be swept away.
In the strength of the water was all your love, every tear that had been spilled beside the shore, all the longing, every truth, the past year. There was the faraway loneliness of what had been once a gap but was now brimming with water, the familiar loneliness of being close but never quite touching until you reached for his hand.
In one of your hands there was his heart, in the other you held his hand. In one of Hyunjinâs hands he held your heart, warm and exuberant; in his other hand he clasped yours as if it were an anchor.
Until then Hyunjin had been touching the floor with the tip of his toes, not afraid of going deeper but waiting to be dragged there. And it wasnât until you were both hand in hand that the lake took both of you and filled with its own self every gap that existed in your bodies, until you were both burning from the inside, until your limbs became too heavy and you had to let go of everything you held.
Then his eyes closed and his mind drifted somewhere else before he could reach out for it. Before the feeling of absolute helplessness could take over his body there was a soft tickling at the back of his neck and a damp aroma filling his nose.
Hyunjin opened his eyes and there was the sky, the infinite stars he hadnât dared to look at directly for over a year. There was a soft breeze and grass under his outstretched palms, there was his back pressed against the freshly rained ground and a hand reaching to hold his.
There you were, beside him in the strange place that looked like home as there was the same sky but couldnât be because there you were and there he was: Hyunjin, the man, the lover; gaps filled to the brim.
hi lovie~ i was just reading through a fic of yours and it surprised me how id never seen it in the tags before. then i noticed youâve been using the wrong tags :( so i figured iâd help out!
here are the most popular tags to use for the skz members
stray kids general fic tags
stray kids imagines*, stray kids scenarios*, stray kids x reader
bang chan
bang chan imagines*, bang chan smut*, bang chan x reader, bang chan fluff
lee know
lee know imagines*, lee know smut, lee know x reader
changbin
changbin imagines, changbin smut, changbin x reader, seo changbin x reader
hyunjin
hyunjin x reader*, hwang hyunjin x reader, hyunjin smut*, hyunjin imagines
han
han jisung imagines*, han jisung smut*, han jisung x reader
felix
lee felix x reader*, felix x reader*, felix smut*, lee felix imagines, felix imagines
seungmin
seungmin imagines, seungmin x reader, seungmin smut*
jeongin
jeongin imagines, jeongin scenarios, jeongin x reader, jeongin smut
*most popular tags
i hope this helps! you write so beautifully, it would be a shame to have it not reach a larger audience đ€
thank you so much!! I honestly came into tumblr not knowing what I was doing at all, so I kind of just tagged it however I thought right back then and then kept going with it this entire time. I'll make sure to keep this list in mind the next time I post.
I'm really glad you enjoy my writing and thank you once again, this is a huge help.
âWe just want to get back home,â Seungmin says, almost pleading.
âToo dangerous, the road is closed.â And that was it, all they were given before being left on their own.
word count: 1.146k
genre: angst, comfort, slice of life.
song: Aphex Twin - Rhubarb (with rain)
Around him thereâs only familiar faces, youthful smiles and carefree laughs. Itâs all as it should be, as itâs always been; heâs seen the entire scene so many times before he should feel some sort of deja vu but more than that it just feels like breathing. For him this is home, this is the one thing heâd willingly come back to every single time, the people whoâll always feel like home.
Around him thereâs only solemn faces, he canât point out the moment they turned like this. Itâs all wrong and yet familiar, because itâs still them but apart, broken, hurt. The rain is pouring and Jeongin canât tell if heâs been here before, if this is more a memory than it is a thing to live through.
âSee you soon,â Hyunjin says to him with a smile that doesnât reach his eyes. Jeongin canât help but think about how this is the kind of moment where things go downhill; thereâs this farewell hug and then distance so intense it turns out to be impossible to erase.
âSoon,â he mutters under his breath, loud enough only for Hyunjin to be able to make his words out. Jeongin doesnât know how to let go now, not when heâs spent a lifetime refusing hugs in order to save them for special occasions like these.
Then itâs Felixâs turn and Seungminâs. Then Hyunjin walks away and something sour at the back of Jeonginâs mind begs him to look away, if only not to burn the image of his friendâs back onto the back of his eyelids, if only not to make this the memory heâll revisit the most in the months to come.
Around him thereâs familiarity, warmth, comfort that heâll need to relinquish, something heâll need to learn how to forget. Even with one of them gone theyâre still home; they can close their eyes and pretend Hyunjin couldnât make it today, that heâd be there tomorrow, they could close their eyes and pretend nobody would follow in his footsteps, but it wouldnât make it true.
He practically slams the door of the car when he gets in and waits for Seungmin to say something, but he doesnât, both Felix and Seungmin are simply staring ahead from the front seats of the car before Seungmin finally starts the engine. Not long ago they were all kids, too young to be left unsupervised; now Seungmin was driving them home after having dropped Hyunjin off at the airport.
The windshield wipers are going crazy at the front, swaying like the swings where theyâd all met for the first time, pushing the heavy rain out of sight. Itâs practically all Jeongin can hear, that, the rain and the car blinkers setting the pace for his heartbeat. Itâs practically all Jeongin can see, everything else has been blurred out.
Suddenly Seungmin curses out loud and Felixâs hand immediately shoots out to grip the arm closest to him; Jeongin looks at them as if he were watching a movie, his eyes simply a camera witnessing their unspoken sorrow. The car comes to a stop, a window is rolled down, the rain finds refuge inside the vehicle with them and Jeongin just stares.
âThe road is closed.â A cop stands outside Seungminâs door. The news shouldnât be a surprise, the sky had been upset since the day had begun and it had only gotten worse after theyâd exited the airport.
Even if they had grown they were still lost, still lacked important pieces of information in life like what was one supposed to do with no road ahead or how could one make farewells hurt less. Felix looked at Seungmin expectantly, scared; Seungmin looked at Jeongin with an apology spelled across his eyes.
âWe just want to get back home,â Seungmin says, almost pleading. Jeongin thought if that were true theyâd be driving in the opposite direction.
âToo dangerous, the road is closed.â And that was it, all they were given before being left on their own. The road was closed, the road was empty; the road ahead was lonely, scary and dangerous.
He practically slams the door of the car when he gets out and Seungmin says something he canât make out over the deafening rain falling around him. When he starts feeling the cold and soaked fabric of his clothes against his skin his eyes become eyes again and heâs suddenly someone standing in the middle of the road.
Felix gets to him first and he hugs him; Jeongin has never refused him a hug and he doesnât plan to start now out of all times. Seungmin watches them from the car, window still down, eyes now furious.
The three of them are missing something, theyâre misplaced and lost, trying to grasp the rain in their hands and getting disappointed when it slips away. This is as much as they can have; the rain enveloping them is the best shot they have at ever owning something that matters, something that makes sense.
Nobody forced them to be out here, nobody forced them to come and Jeongin surely didnât force Seungmin to get out of the car and walk towards themâlook at them like they were a picture worth cherishing. But something had brought them together, the four of them, and it would forever be there stuck in their chests.
Rain dripped from his hair, fell down the slope of his cheeks, chilled him down to his bones. Rain fell from Seungminâs fingertips as he reached out, glued them together in their invented closeness and even in the one theyâd come to own without meaning to. Somewhere out there rain was all that filled Hyunjinâs ears.
Rain was all that awaited them if they backtracked or kept going; the road ahead being a road, didnât have to look too different from what they were leaving behind, even if it took them somewhere entirely different. It was just a road, open or closed, damp or dry, lonely or accompanied.
They got into the car, closed their doors softly, rolled the window up and soaked the seats underneath them. Seungmin started the engine, watched the windshield wipers come to life before twisting the steering wheel and finding another way to get back to their respective houses.
âWe should check the weather next week before bringing Felix to the airport.â I would prefer to avoid a situation like today, is left unsaid by Seungmin but they both hear it anyway.
âThat would be a good idea.â Felix smiles tight-lipped before willing his eyes to stop looking ahead and instead concentrate on the window beside him filled with raindrops.
Thereâs another road not yet closed that Seungmin takes. Thereâs the rain, the familiarity, the cold, the airport, the leaving, the farewells, the different roads, the car, thereâs Jeongin; there is home and there is going away.
hello, @moon-lixie! you have received a bouquet full of purple tulips from @sulfurcosmos! purple tulips symbolize royalty and elegance.
along with your beautiful flowers, a short message has been sent to you! it reads:
âpurple tulips that symbolise elegance, much like your lovely writing style. i hope you know how much i appreciate you and your work, bestie! đâ
have a lovely day, and enjoy your flowers!
(this delivery is from @view-bouquets, a virtual flower delivery service for fans of stray kids. for prettier flowers, click on the photo!)
this has to be by far one of the most thoughtful and cute things someoneâs done for me. thank you so much to the lovely person that sent the flowers and the amazing and hardworking owner of the bouquets account.
Because not everything was about want âthe whole world could go down in flames despite nobody wanting thatâ and yet it was everything that mattered.
word count: 2.415k
genre: slice of life.
Envy the mouth, not the neckâ envy it for its want and all it can make, envy its pride, envy its wake.
Thereâs a mouth on his neck, resting right where it feels like it's coming alive to make its own decisions. Like perhaps deciding that all of this is happening in the wrong way; the chills going down his spine donât thrill him, they make him want to back away.
Thereâs the heat of a hungry mouth, the dampness of its willingness to take, the horrid feeling of its aliveness right at Hyujinâs pulse. No amount of wishing could make it go away, especially not when his neck stands rooted to his frozen body.
He feels stupidâevery single time he trusts too soon he feels stupid. Itâs got all to do with him, because heâs the one who trusted that tonight a mouth would bring him the calmness that a mouth has never brought him. He feels stupid because he trusted in the thing that had failed him time and time again.
But itâs his neck that protests as if being burned, it screams, this isnât what I want, and Hyunjin isnât a monster; in situations like these even his hands must listen. A no uttered in silence is still a refusal and his neck has been pronouncing those two letters for so long now that its voice has grown rough. So he pushes someone and then thereâs no mouth on his neck.
Like his very own hands or his very own self that freeze and fear at the wrong times, only to come back alive when heâs required to stay still. Because it is even now that his feet glue themselves to the floor as if privy to information his scared and fractic heart would want to know, it is even now that half his body decides to betray him so willingly.
Instead of feeling like himself Hyunjin feels like little pieces of a bigger thing; here are his hands and his feet, he can feel his pulse and how he breathes, his eyes and lipsâtheyâre all something his but not him. He wishes someone could piece him together.
He staggers down the stairs of this foreign house, acting drunk when stone cold sober because the poor lighting makes him feel lost. His fingertips trace the railing carefully; one more descent there with his body all in pieces and he might know this stairs better than he knows his own neck that now folds in over itself looking to hide.
All of a sudden the world is so full it might burstâ with how many people stand in the living room and the entrance of the kitchen alone it wouldn't surprise Hyunjin if at least the house did. He feels like all eyes are on him, on his unlucky neck; it makes him feel disgusted with himself.
If Hyunjin could, he'd want to tell everyone there that this isn't what he wants, that the mouth on his neck was a confusion not a desire. Because Hyunjin isn't like that, the last thing he wants in this world are hands and mouths; but instead he has to leave everyone with the wrong impression.
Then itâs all empty when his feet reach the street, silent as if time had paused in the enigmatic in-between of night and day. Itâs all in pause, all confused as he is, all untouched like his skin isnât.
Itâs perhaps the daydream of all of the wistful pieces of him, the desire to be forgotten and left behind.
What a silly thing to want, he thinks, but the truth is he would leave his limbs on the street if he knew itâd make them happier. Heâd leave his neck to not be the one touched, heâd leave to not be the one forgotten, to not be the one withstanding this silence.
Silence so loud and real that it makes him feel like an illusion, just a mouth resting without purpose, a neck waiting to be attacked and unable to defend itself. Heâs just a shadow on the empty street, and yet he feels watched.
As always, he feels judged; all of his rattling pieces almost become one under the heavy weight of the embarrassment of not wanting the things he should. As always, even when heâs alone, he feels like curling in on himself so that nobody gets a glimpse of him ever again.
And yet at the same time he wants someone to see him; he wants someone to look at his neck and then at him, not waste a second before telling him the mouth on his neck doesnât show, and convince him once and for all that heâs more than the touch he doesnât want.
His legs, thinking by themselves, begin running through the inhabited streetlights in a hurryâ as if running fast enough would catch him up with those whose bodies felt like a whole. Not just necks and mouths but humans in the flesh.
The world turns blurry as he keeps going, just flashes of light, the stupor of his fragmented mind. For a minute he wonders if heâs broken so beyond repair that heâd begun slipping through the cracks of reality; he wonders when was the last time he felt like he belonged anywhere at all.
Heâs losing himself but it matters very little when he canât even feel his mouth or make out how it is that he looks after someone pushed their own desires onto him. It all matters very little when he canât be questioned for the lack of knowledge he has on his own wants.
Even the OPEN 24 HOURS sign he ends up standing in front of matters very little, especially when he pushes through the doors of the convenience store convinced thereâs no reason for him to be there.
But heâs met with a reason to stay almost immediately; said reason stands there with two different drinks in hand, a conflicted look on his face and a distinctive mole on one of his obnoxiously full cheeks. It makes Hyunjin wonder why he had to stop running right here.
Everything is washed over by a bright fluorescent gleam that almost hides the flash of recognition that passes through Jisungâs eyes once he looks up and towards Hyunjin, but he knows better than to think that Jisung of all people could simply forget the face of the boy who sat annoyed by his side during their growing years.
Jisung says that itâs a surprise to find Hyunjin there or perhaps he asks what heâs doing there when itâs barely the first hours of the a.m.; all Hyunjin can truly focus on is Jisungâs gaze on his neck.
Hyunjin curses the stupid mouth that touched him, the greedy mouth that thought it was clever to mark something it didnât own. He wishes he could rub his hand along his neck and get rid of the reddening marks that make his skin feel as if it had been burnt.
If only he could, itâs always if only Hyunjin could, but if somehow he could heâd love to run away especially from this pair of eyes who knew him and now refused to look away from his marked shame. And if only he could, he'd want to ignore the something very akin to envy in Jisung's eyesâ mainly because he thinks that if someone there had the right to feel envy it was him; he envies Jisungâs envy because it speaks of him wanting the things Hyunjin canât.
The situation makes him feel enraged, especially the part where Jisung wonât look him in the eye but has no problem not looking away from his neck. If Jisung wanted a mark of his own so damn bad he would give him one right now, but the truth is heâd despise his mouth for even trying.
Suddenly he wants to scream, wants to break his lips apart to try and voice the heavy thing in his chest that had long ago evolved from unwelcomed to a part of who he was. He felt like putting an end to the guilt and longing Jisungâs face brought along.
But the problem wasnât really Jisungâs face, it was who Jisung reminded him of, because every single time he looked back on his life he saw himself beside someone and then on a faraway corner stood Jisung ready to make his way to them. The important part has always been the other person.
And then it actually makes sense that he ended up there of all places because the person appearing from one of the aisles with Hyunjinâs favourite snack in hand isnât just anybody. Itâs the one he called his best friend, someone who he thought heâd be with for a lifetime and he was there with Jisung instead of him.
"Hyunjin?" The guy says and it's stupidly laughable how he sounds exactly the same after all this time, how Hyunjin can recall his entire life clearly just because of this one voice speaking his name.
"Hyunjin." And Seungmin is there in front of him, younger and in the middle of his room, wanting him more than Jisung because thatâs just how things were when the world was right and Hyunjin was still just one thing.
âItâs not all about want, you can choose something even if youâre not sure youâll want to settle for it in the future,â Seungmin had said, trying to help Hyunjinâs stupid eighteen year old self as he always did.
âItâs easy for you to say, youâre the one letting others plan your life for you. Not only because you donât get to do something you actually want do I have to settle for less too,â Hyunjin had answered, because even back then he had trouble with his wants; even then did he shame himself for not knowing what he wanted and wanting things heâd deny.
Seungmin had stared at him as if his words hadnât had any effect on him, but they both knew that theyâd hurt because they were both the same, lost about the universally strong force of want, the only difference was that Seungmin had always been more mature.
And the words couldâve been forgiven if only not so much was at stake with them. They were talking about a decision that skipping on could cost them a year apart, which felt like an eternity capable of ripping them apart.
Things couldâve worked out fine, they wanted for things to turn out fine, but Hyunjin ran from the decisions that mattered even when he dived head first into the ones he shouldnât have taken up for choosing. So when he stayed silent feeling his body shatter down Seungmin picked up and walked away.
That had all been back when the distance and time proved ruthless, back when Seungmin decided that Jisung was âhad to beâ enough for him because Hyunjin had made a completely different path for himself. It had all been before Hyunjin ended up forcing himself into a path that he wasnât sure he did want, before he lamented himself for not doing so sooner so his friend and him wouldâve never had to part.
Which is why it's ironic and somehow fitting that he's here right now with the two of them; his friend who he longed for every day and the guy he had envied since the first time he had crossed paths with him because Jisung was everything heâd never be.
"It's been a while," Seungmin says now that he's standing in front of him and beside Jisung. Heâs looking Hyunjin in the eye and never has the latter wished to be seen more; when he said he wanted for someone to see him he had actually meant Seungmin.
All he wants is for Seungmin to look at him from head to toe, to take in all of his faults, marks and touches he had received and still want him in his life again. He wants Seungmin to recognise in his eyes that heâs lost like heâd never been before because he had become someone new in their time apart.
But Hyunjin had eyes too and he could see Seungmin wasn't the same either, that he was his hands and even his mouth because time had only made him feel surer of himself. Hyunjin envies him but he envies Jisung more, for having seen how Seungmin had turned into this.
"Well, it's getting late," Jisung slips into the silence, making no absolute sense because at this hour thereâs no up or down, no late or early, no right or wrong.
There's only want, an insatiable and never-ending want that takes over Hyunjin's mouth and gives it purpose for the first time in too long.
"I still don't know what I want," Hyunjin says, deciding to ignore Jisung. Around them the silence suddenly bursts; theyâre no longer stuck in an in-between as the soft hum of the refrigerators come to life and Seungminâs restless fingers make the wrapper of the food heâs yet to buy rustle.
âI donât know what I want to do so Iâm just doing whatever I can.â Hyunjin knows itâs a little late to say this, he knows that his words wonât magically fix everything thatâs been left broken far too long but he canât stop himself from trying. âSo I think I finally understand what you were trying to tell me back then. I simply needed to do something, it didn't really matter what.
It's not all about want and it sucks that it took me this long to figure it out.â
"It's not all about want," Seungmin repeats slowly under his breath and in that moment Hyunjin couldnât care less about who was around or the marks stuck on his neck.
He could see they both wanted to fix things and that was enough for him, even if their want didnât guarantee things would work out just fine. Because not everything was about want âthe whole world could go down in flames despite nobody wanting thatâ and yet it was everything that mattered.
Hyunjin wanted and so did his hands; he wanted to be whole, didnât want to be alone, wished he could go back in time, hoped he could fix things. And if nothing in this world assured him that things could work out that way, in the end he could at least say heâd wanted it.
Hii :) I was wondering if you have a masterlist for your stories?
Hello, I absolutely do. On the description of the blog there's a link that takes you to a post with all my masterlists and other info. But I'll drop them here too
But it's his bed; he always reasons that if he could bring his bed with him he would go anywhere and never look back.
word count: 2.727k
warnings: implicit sexual content, brief discussion of death.
genre: slice of life.
song: FJK - ylang ylang (s l o w e d)
Behind his closed eyelids there's an entire world that exists only within the soft buzz reaching his ears. It isnât quiet or forgiving, it is a whole hurricane that no human could ever learn to tame.Â
From the front seats of the car his parents speak; Seungmin hears his name here and there and focuses on keeping his eyes closed. He pretends to be asleep because that is what feels right.Â
He wants this trip to be over before it has the chance to properly begin, he wants to go home even when he's well aware that once he gets back he'll wish to be anywhere but there. It's amusing how eager he is to be outside his house and yet how much he craves to never leave at the same time. But it's his bed; he always reasons that if he could bring his bed with him he would go anywhere and never look back.Â
Oh what a man would do for a good night's sleep. Seungmin would hesitate very little before giving his soul away for it; if he could he would never sleep outside his own bed because he knows his chances of resting are higher there.Â
Apparently the man he was would not do enough for sleep; seeing as heâs on his way to sleep on the floor of his cousinâs bedroom for the upcoming two days. He wonders if heâll ever be more, do more, defend his sleep and his soul down to the last second.Â
When he opens his eyes thereâs green, vast green that extends far beyond his sight but thereâs also grey and that is the place he stands at. The exhausted tires of the car keep going round and round over the grey pavement and thereâs very little chance that Seungmin will ever get to stand on the green side, the greener side.Â
Oh what a man would do and how a man would lose his head. Oh what Seungmin would never do and what he will always crave.Â
His heart is beating on his throat the moment he opens his eyes, thereâs sweat and the uncomfortable feeling of his shirt sticking to his skin. After blinking a couple of times he manages to wake up enough to make out the green glowy stars stuck to the ceiling; when he looks at his side he can make out the faint silhouette of Jisung fast asleep in bed.Â
Plenty of times he has fallen asleep in that room, every other family reunion that would always involve two hours of driving for either of them and would always end in parents sleeping in the spare room and Seungmin or Jisung getting acquainted with each otherâs rooms yet again.Â
Plenty of times and yet not enough for Seungmin to feel at home; his own mind betrayed him by not wishing to play pretend and go along. The messily arranged sheets on the floor werenât his bed and what he stared at wasnât his ceiling, it was just a ceilingâ perhaps it could also be called a sky.Â
Once again he looked at Jisung, forcing his eyes to adjust to the darkness and make out more of his cousinâs expression. Seungmin wondered about him just as much as he wondered about everyone else lately; he wished to understand what went on inside their heads and who they were beyond what one was able to witness on quick exchanges.Â
Seungmin craved a lot of things but more than anything he wanted to understand, understand himself and the world that never stopped around them. He wanted things to make sense under his own rules and wanted a chance to make it out alive through the process of growing old.Â
With a sigh he shuts his eyes close tightly and waits for sleep to take pity on him. On the inside of his eyelids he can see the outline of the stars glowing on Jisungâs pretend sky.Â
Should he put stars up in his room too? Could he make time stop and not grow as fast as he was growing? Could he ever make up for all the things he hadnât had before? Would he ever feel something different than just emptiness?
There are no smiles on his parentâs faces and Seungmin canât blame them, after all, he is the last child to go and he doesnât think theyâll be happy in the silence and solitude of the house that had often haunted him. But they have each other to fend the loneliness off, at least that is what Seungmin keeps repeating himself inside his head.Â
He goes and takes the train that promises to lead him to adventure, but he canât sleep on his way there and he surely wonât sleep when he arrives. Now he will live far from the place he always called home and heâs particularly upset about the fact that his bed has now become just another bed in his parentâs house. He feels like he no longer has a place for him in this world.Â
Heâs not upset at the loss of a home because he knows heâll eventually find a new one but he canât help mourning the loss of his sleep and his soul. He doesnât know what he is doing with his life or what exactly he pretends to do going forward but the world keeps pushing him to never stop moving so he sets his own body in motion and just goes.Â
Goes where the wind takes him and to the cheap mattress waiting for him in his equally cheap apartment he wouldnât be able to afford without his parentâs help. Heâs still a child despite all of his capabilities as an adult; he is a child and he is scared shitless.
Thereâs no use in pretending or repeating something out loud enough times to convince himself and make a fool out of him in front of everybody else; he doesnât wish to be the kid that screams he is an adult and heâs got it all under control, especially because those are often the ones that have nothing under control.Â
There is no control, the walls around him probably need to be repainted and he knows he wonât ever be the one to do it, the bathroom needs to be scrubbed clean and Seungmin could never not put that at the top of his to-do list, the mattress under him needs to be replaced in order to become a bedâ his bed.Â
Itâs a back, an unknown yet familiar back whose owner seemed particularly careless when saying, âyou can spend the night here, I really donât mind either way.â
And heâs naked, worn down to the bone under the sheets he begins to question on their cleanness. But no amount of dirt or dust could make him run because heâs tired and inexperienced, he has no idea what he is supposed to do so he settles for staying and staring.Â
In front of him there is a back he just touched and that he hopes to forget in due time; thereâs a bare back like a symbol of pleasure carried out in freedom. Seungmin regrets nothing but he knows he wonât wish to remember tonight because it was nothing special.Â
He wonders how many more backs and how many more beds he will get to know during his whole life, when will it ever stop and if it will ever stop to begin with. He wonders because his entire existence has passed in wonder, wanting, and never having.Â
He has no place, no bed, no back to be stared at because heâs always the one staring. Seungmin rushes in, always head first and with his heart in his hand âhe wouldnât want to do it otherwiseâ and he always, always, wonders about it further down the road.Â
When he reaches forward and touches that back he wonders why he does it, he wonders what is the human fascination with touching and forgoing anything else. But he touches nevertheless, first with just the fingertips and the curious patterns he will etch onto many more skins.Â
Then there is an awakening and a seductive smile, he touches with his entire palms and his entire body; he makes this bed his own and that back a memory of a collection of staring he will have to suffer through for the rest of his life.Â
The sun takes its time to greet them through the open window as if he were giving Seungmin enough time, enough to touch, stare, grip and leave before the sun can notice his absence in the bed that was only temporary hisâ never to be mentioned with that possessive noun ever again.
And he wonders; god, he wonders so much that sometimes his head begins to hurt. He wonders what his back looks like and if someone will ever touch it just with the fingertips in order to know it blind.Â
He wonders about wondering, about backs, beds, about life and death, wonders about whether they mean something or if he should finally stop wondering so hard.Â
Thereâs moments and places that feel endless; right now the hallway he walks through feels like it never stops, like it will keep going and going for as long as it takes for him to finally stop feeling utterly lost.Â
But everything comes to end, just like life itself, and so he reaches the room under the number 310 and he knows he needs to go in and meet the bed that will never be like his. This time around the thought bothers him just a bit less, because he couldnât fathom feeling okay with enjoying his own bed tonight out of all nights.Â
He pushes the door closed right behind him, throws his luggage near the foot of the bed and goes around the room opening every cabinet and door that allows itself to be opened. He doesn't know what heâs looking for or if heâs looking for something to begin with; he probably just wants a distraction.Â
A hotel room is way too silent when one is meant to spend their time alone in it but so is the life of an adult that has no more kid left to spare inside of him, at least not enough to warrant being treated like one. Heâs alone and he is supposed to shoulder his way throughout.
Which is the exact thought that has him feeling so lost and scared. Heâs expected to make his way around life himself, to fix his own problems and be his own support âheâs been doing it for far longer than he probably shouldâveâ but there is no fixing or supporting yourself through death.Â
He lets himself fall over his back on the bed once he feels satisfied enough with the results of his exploring, his shoeless feet fall atop the pillows and his head barely misses the fancily arranged bed foot cover that would have digged uncomfortably on the back of his neck otherwise.
The window is right beside the empty space left on a bed made for two, its curtain had been drawn open by Seungmin himself a couple of minutes before and now it makes for the perfect view of a plane sky that has no stars in sight.Â
He remembers the weekend spent camping out with his parents, his sister, Jisung, and his grandfather. He wants to do them all over again but he knows the empty space left behind by the latest occurrence would hurt everyone deeply. Still, he wants to go back to those days and watch the stars.Â
For the first time ever he wants death to be reversible, something to fix or even solve. He wants his grandfather back but more than anything he wants the peace of not having to think about death at all, about not having to stand face to face with his own mortality once again.Â
The sky doesnât waver at his distress, it stands frozen on the image of a saddened blue that has no imperfections in itâa pity since the imperfections of the sky are the prettiest freckles Seungmin has ever seen in his life.Â
He ends up closing his eyes at some point, losing sight of the sky, of death and its pain, of the bed that he wakes up to find terribly uncomfortable because his body doesnât belong there.
He expects to be met with silence because silence is a given, a constant in his life that doesnât bother him anymore but that he doesnât find particularly pleasant either. So he is surprised when a voice makes itself known inside the room.Â
âNo matter how many times I come back, the fact that this is no longer my room never stops feeling weird,â Jisung says and if Seungmin knew better he would say something back to him.Â
Theyâre both laying on the floor of a room that is technically Jisungâs room but looks nothing like it anymore; the only thing that remains the same are the glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling because even the person beside him has changed.Â
Jisung is a man and Seungmin keeps looking at him and asking himself about the ins and outs of the otherâs mind and complete existence. But he never reaches forward to ask or even try to figure out; he keeps Jisung tucked in the corner of his world where he keeps his family.Â
If he entertains the thought he knows for a fact that Jisung and him couldâve become close friends beyond being related by blood, but he always refused and kept him at arm's length, as a memory of a cheerful boy that manifested into reality every other summer. Seungmin wonders if that is something he could fix now, many years too late.Â
âI donât know why they even kept those stars.â This time when Jisung speaks it feels like Seungmin has something to say for the very first time in his life.Â
âThey kept them because with them they were keeping your essence inside this room,â Seungmin says, surprising even himself with the certainty that his words carried, but even more with how true they tasted on his tongue. Seungmin never knew he had answers in himself.Â
By his side Jisung stays silent for a contemplative second before puffing out a laugh, the kind that sounds tired and yet stupidly full of hope. âI guess Iâm not the only one that misses those days then.â
And if only Jisung knew âperhaps he did knowâ everybody always missed, always ached, always wondered like they had nothing better to do with their lives. Everyone always craved for that something they couldnât have and for the things they once held but could no longer grasp.Â
âWhat do you miss the most?â Seungmin finds himself asking. Two grown adults talking like how they were supposed to do when they were kids left alone in the same room.Â
âMy bed,â Jisung answers without missing a beat, meaning it with every bone and breath inside his body. Seungmin could tell just by looking at his expression, even if obscured by the dark.Â
A bed he no longer had, just like how Seungmin had lost his own when he decided to make a life outside of the home that had been almost forcefully appointed to him. Beds, the sacred space capable of holding lives, backs, hearts and so much more.Â
The beds that âhe suspectedâ both had felt like they would do anything for, because the men they were back when they were only kids wouldâve given their lives for them. Now Seungmin had grown way too used to feeling foreign in any place he decided to rest at.Â
âMe too,â Seungmin muses back almost in a whisper.Â
His bed, the one that had been and could no longer be; if only he could pack it up and take it with him everywhere he went he knew he wouldnât waste so much time wondering and looking back. But perhaps that was growing, facing the hurricane shaped world after stepping out of bed one day and knowing you would never come back.Â
For that he had no answer yet, maybe he never would, but that wouldnât stop him from wondering about it.Â
âWhat are heroes to you?â Jisung simply blurted out. This was no âwhat are we having for dinner?â or âdo you think this shirt will stain the rest of the clothes if I wash it with this load of laundry?â This sounded way more like a big existential crisis in the middle of the living room.
âWell,â Minho began before tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brows; now he was the one thinking hard and long to reach an answer. âI think heroes are what we make of them.â
or, where Spiderman and Deadpool aka Jisung and Felix, team up to save the day and learn about what it means to be a hero along the way.
word count: 9.444k
warnings: depiction of violence, mentions of guns and injuries, sporadic mature language.
genre: action, Jisung!Spiderman, Felix!DeadpoolÂ
Another crappy day, another chance to crawl inside dirty vents and make it even worse. Because contrary to how they are portrayed on every other tv show and movie, vents are actually filthy; Jisung had learnt that the hard way since the Spiderman job entailed a lot of crawling through them.
Theyâre also awfully small even for someone like Jisung who isnât exactly of a big build. To this day he can still remember the disappointment on that kidâs face who pointed at him with his finger and said âmommy, why is Spiderman so skinny?â It was one of his biggest motivations on those days he didnât feel like hitting the gym.Â
Back to the vent thing; he was on yet another one because of Dr. Yang Jeongin and his cryptic message that had only said âHelp!!â. Jisung thought that if he had been in a real life and death situation he wouldâve skipped the exclamation points, so Jisung wasnât exactly in a rush to get there, he just wanted to get out of the vents or for the day to be over.Â
âHow could you ask me to chill?! Youâre about to kill me and this thing wonât work!â The scream resounded on every single one of the four metal walls of the vent. It was the characteristic high pitched screams of Dr. Yang.Â
Okay, maybe Jisung was wrong and Jeongin was having an actual emergency.Â
âThough day isnât it?â Another voice came through as Jisung got closer to them, this one much more deeper and familiar.Â
Please donât be him, please donât be him, Jisung chanted inside his head because if that voice belonged to who he thought it did, it wouldnât be the best of news. Granted, it wouldnât be the end of the world either.Â
Jisung finally reached the door vent and pushed it open before peeking his head inside the room. Exactly how he suspected, a red mask âmuch like his very ownâ stared at him from the entrance of the lab bathed in pale blue light.Â
âDr. Yang! I finally found you, where have you been?â Jisung mused in the most amicable tone he could muster. Of course this was how he would end his Friday; trying to convince his friend to not kill one of his acquaintances. How fun!
âSpiderman!â Jeongin exclaimed in clear relief. Okay, Jisung would make sure to think twice before letting the fact of him having a bad day mess with his efficiency and willingness to get places fast. He is human after all, he can make mistakes once in a while.Â
He lowered himself from the vent carefully and sighed as inaudibly as possible while making his way to the man standing on the door with a nonchalant pose and a gun in hand. Could his Friday get any better?Â
âFââ Jisung began before cutting himself off and trying to cover up his mistake quickly, âfunny to find you here.â He canât believe he almost said Felixâs name out loud; he doesnât know how his friend goes about things but if someone were to shout for him by his name while he was wearing the suitâ he doesnât even want to think about what could happen.
âItâs nice to see you too.â Felixâs voice filled the room once again. Jisung could almost see his smile under the mask, all bright and freckled like his friend himself, all sweet and soothing much like his friendâs presence wasn't at the time.Â
âTell me this isnât a personal business,â Jisung said hushedly, almost like he was begging, not his friend but to the universe.
âNo, not at all. This is a job I took.â Felix seemed to catch on and lowered his voice so only Jisung could properly hear it.Â
âThatâs good, thatâs great.â With yet another sigh Jisung outstretched his hand to pat his friend on the shoulder. âToday has been rough and you know I need to keep this man safe, soâŠâ
âI get the message, I donât want to hurt you either. Letâs just go, I can ditch the job,â Felix supplied while putting his gun away. Sweet and considerate Felix who also got paid to do some illegal stuff from time to time.
Jisung nodded once again and turned; having Felix be the perpetrator of the crime he needed to stop wasnât that bad after all but it wasnât good either. From the other side of the room Jeongin stared at both of them with an incredulous look on his face.Â
âMy apologies for the inconvenience. Weâll be leaving now,â Jisung began saying, feeling more embarrassed than proud at the whole situation, âif it helps then whatever was loading on your computer is finally done.â
He watched as Jeongin gaped at him and then turned around to face the computerâs screen that had, in fact, finished loading something. Then he reached for Felixâs hand and pulled him out of there, trying his best to ignore the guards on the floor Felix had gotten to first on his way to the lab.Â
Jisung pressed his eyes shut as he kept walking and told himself he had done the best he could.
The sun was almost setting and the air was getting colder, especially on top of the high building. He sat at the edge of the roof, mask pulled off from his head and eyes trained on his friendâs troubled expression.Â
Felixâs blond hair was being played with by the wind, messily sprawled along the expanse of sky above the city. His expression had gone sour at the same time his fingers tightened against the hold he had on his red mask , just because of Jisungâs seven words.
âWhy do you keep doing this, Lix?â Words of true concern and confusion, because Jisung couldnât understand why Felix out of all people had chosen the path he had.Â
âItâs not as easy as you think, Sung.â Felixâs voice sounded stern, stern enough for Jisung to swallow down his rebuttal about things actually being that easy. He firmly believed that a person could wake up and choose to change, choose to do good.
âNot everyone can get away with only doing the so-called right thing,â the blond man kept going with bitterness wrapping all around his words and tightening around Jisungâs throat in the process.
âWhat do you mean?â Jisung asked and felt out of breath not for the first time today.Â
âThe world doesnât want someone nice and friendly to save them, they just want to feel protected. As long as someone is willing to play the part and feel compelled to think of the greater good then they can get away with the same things that make me a bad person.â
Felix threw his head back and inhaled deeply before adding, âthatâs the difference between you and me, between a hero and whatever the hell I am.âÂ
The words punched Jisung right in the gut and if it hadn't been for his phone suddenly ringing right then, he wouldâve spiralled under the weight of Felixâs statement. Minho was calling him; his older friend always had the best timing.Â
âHi,â Jisung said, keeping his comment short right after picking up; he wanted to question Felix about so much more now.
âIs everything alright?â Of course Minho knew something was off just by the tone of his voice.
âYeah, Iâm just here with Felix.â
âOh,â Minho mused knowingly. âIs this a good time?â
âItâs fine, donât worry. Why did you call?â Jisung asked, feeling the weight of Felixâs eyes on him.
âIt was something silly, really. Now I feel bad for calling.â Minho laughed lightly in embarrassment through the line.
âNonsense, just tell me what it is.â
âI was going to ask you if you wanted me to order takeout from that sushi place you like.â Jisung couldnât help but smile fondly at Minhoâs obvious attempt to cheer him up after he had complained earlier to him about his day. âJust because I donât really feel like cooking and I doubt you do either,â Minho added quickly after.Â
âI would really like that, thank you,â Jisung said with a small smile on his lips. âIâll see you in a bit,â he said and hung up after he heard Minho hum in return.Â
âWho was that?â Felix inquired immediately after, looking like he had forgotten âor simply decided to ignoreâ what they had been talking about just mere seconds ago.Â
âMinho-hyung.â
âI really like Minho-hyung,â the blond suddenly blurted out.
âMy Minho-hyung?â Jisung asked as if Felix couldâve mistaken the name for someone elseâs.
âYes, your roommate Minho,â Felix said in a tone that made his sentence sound an awful lot like âwho else would I be talking about?â âHeâs one of the few normal people that know what I do and does not look uncomfortable around me because of it.â
Jisung reserved his comment about how ânormalâ would be the last word he would use to describe Minho and rather nodded in understanding. Felix was right, Minho had never judged him for what he did, it wasnât really his style.Â
And just because he could, Jisung began feeling guilty because maybe he was judging Felix right now and his friend deserved better.Â
When Jisung finally makes it back home after a very long day, the first thing he does is walk towards the couch and unceremoniously plop down with his head pillowed by Minhoâs legs. He is supposed to be a spider but after a tiring day he is just like one of Minhoâs cats.Â
Minho stays unbothered by his actions and continues to read the book in his hands, simply moving his elbow to rest on the arm of the couch in order to not hit Jisung in the head with it.Â
Jisungâs mind hasnât stopped spinning ever since his conversation with Felix, the words replaying over and over again like a piece of his own writing did whenever he hadn't delivered the desired message properly. He was trying to decipher them, to understand.Â
âThatâs the difference between heroes and whatever the hell I am.â Over and over again, what were heroes supposed to be in the first place?
Frustrated, he rubbed his face with his hands and closed his eyes tightly. He felt the beginning of a headache start to creep its way from behind his eyes.
âJisung, youâre thinking so hard that I can barely concentrate on reading,â Minho said while simultaneously closing his book. Jisung knew this was an invitation for him to talk about whatever was bothering him so much.
âWhat are heroes to you?â Jisung simply blurted out. This was no âwhat are we having for dinner?â or âdo you think this shirt will stain the rest of the clothes if I wash it with this load of laundry?â This sounded way more like a big existential crisis in the middle of the living room.
âWell,â Minho began before tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brows; now he was the one thinking hard and long to reach an answer. âI think heroes are what we make of them.â
Jisung stared at Minho with confusion in his eyes and waited for an explanation to follow. Minho leaned forward carefully to toss his book atop the coffee table and sat back before allowing one of his hands to get lost in Jisungâs mop of hair.Â
âIf someone helps you when you need it, wouldnât they become a hero to you?â With his fingers carding through Jisungâs hair he continued speaking, âregardless of someoneâs moral compass or if they have special abilities of some sort, I think it is their positive actions towards someone that defines them as heroes.â
Hastily, Jisung sat up and repositioned himself on the couch so he was able to look Minho in the eyes. âYouâre saying that even if someone is doing things that are morally wrong, helping someone would immediately turn them into a hero?â
âThey would become heroes in the eyes of the person that they helped, yes,â Minho answered almost immediately. âThereâs people out there that dislike Spiderman but there are even more that think of you as a hero because you spend your days helping them. Everything is about perspective.â
A heavy silence installed itself in between them. Jisungâs eyes found their way to the floor while his thoughts ran a marathon. Was he a hero? Was he not? Could the concept of heroes be as subjective as Minho was suggesting?
âDo you think Iâm a hero?â Jisung broke the silence barely; his voice almost easy to miss even in the lack of noise. It was always on the longest days that time and silence seemed to stretch just to torture him.Â
âYes, to me you are the best hero out there,â Minho answered without hesitation before reaching out to squeeze Jisungâs hand once. What had Jisung done to deserve praise so honest and sweet? He had no idea.
âThat was too sappy, please never make me say something like that again.â Minho quickly added along a soft smile that betrayed his faux tone of disgust.Â
âDo you always have to ruin everything?â Jisung asked and just like that all the tension had dissolved into thin air.Â
Jisung began having trouble sleeping when he was barely a teenager; back then his parents had blamed it on the little to no physical activity on his schedule. They had said that Jisung simply had too much energy after spending all day inside his room.Â
When he first began with the whole Spiderman thing at the beginning of college his parentâs comments had proved to be true for a while. In between homework, his social life âalbeit limitedâ and his job playing hero he had dropped dead on his bed most nights, insomnia completely forgotten.Â
Now having traded college for a fulltime job as a journalist and his responsibilities of a friendly and occasional saviour to the one responsible for keeping the city safe, he thought he would have an easier time sleeping but it wasnât the case.Â
Even if he felt absolutely exhausted and ready for a day to end his mind kept swinging from building to building or writing an award winning article that would never see the day of light.Â
At barely twenty four Jisung felt the whole weight of the world on his shoulder, even worse, he felt the weight of all of his mistakes prying his eyelids open at night. Today even more so than before.Â
If anybody had asked him back when he was nineteen whether he was a hero or not, Jisung wouldnât have even hesitated before saying that he was in fact one. That opinion had stayed there, unwavering for years until the night he ended up sobbing in Minho's embrace because he hadnât been able to save someone for the first time.
Becoming an adult had been hard especially when he had been expected to make all the hard decisions while thinking of the âgreater good.â At this point in his life Jisung could recite a long list of things he wasnât proud of, but he had always been convinced the good things would end up outweighing the bad ones.
With a humourless chuckle caressing his lips on the way out, Jisung pulled his mask over his face and climbed outside from his window. This to him had become routine; not sleeping, questioning if he deserved being called a hero, night patrols.
It was just that, tonight more than ever he wanted to rip his hair out and scream at the top of his lungs to make himself heard and possibly receive an answer to the question of who was he. Spiderman or Jisung, a hero or a person that had gone way too far, two parts of one thing or simply the one human that held too many responsibilities in his arms.
Jisung climbed the wall until he reached the rooftop of his building, not waiting a single second before pushing himself off the wall and propelling his body towards the air. A single web shot from the devices attached to his wrists and then he was ready to go anywhere.Â
A hero or an outcast, the difference between a hero and whatever society wanted to call Felix. The world seemed to break into binaries, perfect pieces of black and white that sometimes collided but never smudged each other's colours.Â
What the world didnât seem to want to acknowledge was the amount of grey taking hold of Jisungâs heart that people proclaimed had and would always be white. They wanted to ignore people like Felix or Minho that seemed not to care about whatever society told them they should care about and still were one of the nicest and most genuine people he had ever met.
The thing the world didnât seem to want to acknowledge, the thing Jisung didnât want to acknowledge, was that perhaps heroes are what people make of them.Â
Jisung understood the wish to deny like he had tried to push the anxiety inducing thoughts keeping him awake since fourteen, because sometimes the truth sounded a lot like a lie and lies appeared to be the truth. And in this special case Jisung didnât know what he wanted to be the truth and what the lie.Â
âFelix,â he weakly said out loud, almost like he wished his voice would blend in with the walls around; if only to avoid announcing his presence inside a place where he felt like he didnât belong.
âJisung.â Felix pronounced his name with a wide smile; it was moments like those that made Jisung wonder why their relationship felt so complicated sometimes, why couldnât they just be Felix and Jisung and let all moral dilemmas aside.
Felix patted the stool beside him twice, then he simply turned towards the bartender while pointing an accusing finger towards Jisung and winked. Next thing he knew, Jisung was sitting with a drink waiting in front of him to decide he was ready to swallow back his question in the meantime, and he was once again reminded that this was Felixâs place.
The bar that Felix frequented, tended to by a curly haired, dimpled man that always patted Jisung on the back when he was on his way out because âFelixâs friends are my friends too.â The bar filled with people who did things for a living that Jisung didnât even want to think about and some others that thought of Deadpool âFelixâs aliasâ as a hero.Â
It was the kind of place where Jisung couldnât just stash his blue and red suit into his beaten up backpack and call it a day. Because if there were people who would have the right to call Spiderman the opposite of a hero it was them.Â
As much as Jisung hated it sometimes, Spiderman began as someone who challenged authorities with his mere presence and had ended up with someone pointing online that his suit had all the colours of the South Korean flag. Somewhere along the way he had ended up another foolish symbol of the law while having nothing to do with the government.Â
So if anyone on that bar suddenly shouted âFuck Spiderman!â Jisung would scream along with them and down his drink in the same way that he was doing right now.Â
âWow, take it easy there.â Felixâs voice reached his ears right when his empty glass touched the wooden countertop once again. âWe literally saw each other a couple of hours ago, how much worse could your day have turned in so little time?â Felix was asking as a joke, but boy did he have no idea.Â
âItâs life, nothing is impossible. Every shitty day can turn even shittier in a matter of seconds,â Jisung shrugged before nodding sheepishly at the bartender who offered to refill his glass.
âI think thatâs the first smart thing Iâve ever heard you say,â Felix says and laughs when Jisung hits him in the arm just to groan a bit after the latter has inflicted the damage.Â
âYou good?â Jisung questions him, his finger tracing the rim of his newly filled glass.Â
âYes, itâs no big deal. You know I heal fast.â Felix grins stupidly wide before continuing, âI just came back from meeting with the person that hired me for todayâs job and they werenât really happy about me walking back on our deal.â
âIâm so sorry forâŠâ What is he even supposed to say? âSorry for preventing a murderâ or perhaps âIâm sorry that this person was pissed nobody died tonightâ? âcomplicating things for you,â he finally settles on.Â
âNo, please, Iâm even kinda glad you did.â There went Jisung again with his questioning gaze and eternally sealed lips at the worst of times. âI looked up Dr. Yang and he seems like the kind of person that could actually make a change for the better, you know? Iâm sorry that I even took that job in the first place.â
The blond man downed the remaining of his drink in one go and grimaced more in embarrassment than bother by the burn of the liquor going down his throat. Jisung thought that if he were in Felix's place he would also be heavily regretting who he had been about to harm, because not only was Jeongin a young, bright man but he was also a scientist whose research on regenerative medicine looked more than promising.Â
âDo you think theyâll look for another person to finish the job for you?â Jisung asked not really sure if he wanted to hear the answer he most likely already knew.
With a couple of nods Felix managed to make Jisung feel ten times more exhausted than he was and it must have showed on his face because Felix immediately reached to pat his back and say, âlet me walk you home and weâll figure things out together, okay?â
Would it be that bad if Jisung admitted that he was one of those people that thought Felix was a hero despite knowing very well he wasnât a good person? And was it a crime to wish for the people on that bar to keep hating what the idea of Spiderman had begun standing for?
Minho stared at them from the kitchen with an unimpressed look, a glass of water on his hand and his hair sticking up in every odd way possible once Felix and him made it through the door of the apartment.Â
âDonât puke on my rug.â Was all he said before walking straight towards his room without sparing them another glance.Â
Jisung had long learned that Minhoâs rug was off limits when it came to making a mess. He could even dare leave snack wrappers on Minhoâs room from when Jisung would pace around the apartment trying to come up with something good to write, and Minho would only groan in annoyance before cleaning up after him. But the rug was holy, one single stain and Jisung would come back to find all of his things waiting for him outside in boxes.Â
âYou can sleep on the couch,â Jisung said while untying his shoes and hurrying to disappear to his room, praying that this time he will be able to fall asleep.Â
âWhat if I mess up the rug?â Felix whisper-shouts before Jisung is out of earshot and oh how the latter wants to break out laughing; everyone knows that Minhoâs rug is off limits. Â
âHeâll be merciful and let you live, maybe.â He doesnât even relish for long on Felixâs fearful expression because heâs really tired and can barely enjoy anything apart from the feeling of his body being flush against his bed.
 This time when he tries to fall asleep itâs much easier but that doesnât mean he doesnât fall asleep to a loop of his friendsâ words. And if he dreams about heroes or figuring things out once heâs much more awake, then who can blame him?
Itâs only until the sunlight is coming through his curtains that he of course forgot to close last night, that he opens his eyes again, and, although begrudgingly, makes his way out of bed.Â
The sight that greets him once he gets out of his room is the back of a blond mess of hair standing in front of the stove.Â
âWhereâs Minho-hyung?â Jisung asks instead of trying to put a number to the position of the sun in the sky because heâs used to getting a bearing of the time based on whatever his roommate is doing; perhaps way too used to it. Â
âHe left a couple of minutes ago,â Felix supplies and Jisung groans in retaliation because that means it is way too early for him to be already up and awake.Â
âIâm glad youâre up though, because we have a lot to do today.â Jisung doesnât question what heâs being told and just groans noncommittally. âWhere do you guys keep the mugs anyway?â
Slowly but steadily his arm unglues from his side and points towards one of the cabinets. âWhat do you mean with âa lot to do todayâ?â Jisung finally inquires, his voice still heavy with sleep.Â
âFirst I need you to make a couple of calls, more specifically to Dr. Yang, we need to talk to him.â Felix sounds like he had spent all night thinking of what they would do and Jisung didnât doubt it was the case. The only problem was that it was way too fucking early for everything but most importantly for calls.
On that same instant his phone buzzes, when he checks itâs Seungmin asking about whether Jisung thinks there will be something deserving of his presence and camera today.Â
Jisung knows itâs his fault for apparently only befriending morning people.Â
When Jisung is wearing his mask he never hesitates before speaking, he rarely falters and doesnât think twice before diving right into things. Itâs almost amusing how one object can encourage him to live fearlessly in the way he does not when heâs simply roaming through the streets.
Still, there are moments in which he hesitates even while proudly wearing his suit; those are the most terrifying and challenging of all.
The moment that Jeongin becomes aware of who is trailing behind Jisung as he enters the lab is one of those moments. Jeonginâs body becomes stiff at the same time that his gaze becomes threatening and defensive.
âGet out of here!â Jeongin screams after scrambling to grab something he can protect himself with, which ends up being a microscope, one that remains plugged to the wall at that. Â
âHeâs not going to hurt you,â Jisung says and immediately regrets the defensive tone his voice has acquired; his priority should be trying to calm Jeongin not defending Felix. It takes a moment but the young doctor reluctantly puts the not so threatening object down even if that causes a frown to set deep on his face.
âI still donât want him here.â Comes right after and before Jisung can fight for his friend to stay, Felix bows until the front of his mask is facing the floor and mutters an apology before exiting the room.
Now itâs Jisungâs turn to speak up, to say the one thing that will fix things in a second; at least thatâs the kind of thing thatâs expected of him as a hero. Heâs expected to soothe the man in front of him and not get mad or hurt on behalf of his friend. Heâs expected to be a hero when there are days where he can barely be a person.
âWith all due respect because I know youâre old and all, but what were you thinking by bringing him back here?â Jeongin asks, incredulity and anger hugging his words.
âFirst of all, I donât know how many times I have to repeat it but Iâm only one year older than you.â Jisung doesnât know what kind of reaction heâs expecting but he deems Jeonginâs straight face barely satisfactory before continuing, âsecond, I said I was bringing someone to help.âÂ
âBut you didnât specify that you were bringing him.â The way Jeongin said it made Jisung feel like it was a personal attack. âI would rather not get any help at all than get his.â
âAre you serious? You would rather die than accept help?!â His voice sounded too harsh even to him but Jeongin didnât even flinch.Â
âHe tried to kill me! Just yesterday!â
âDo you think I donât know that?!â
âThen why would you even think of bringing him?â This time Jeonginâs voice comes out less strong because the words get stuck in his throat for a second and lessen their brash impact.Â
âBecause he can help you,â Jisung says after having sighed audibly in order to calm himself down. âRight now he might be the only one capable of helping you.â
âHeâs a murderer, how could he help me?â
Another reason why Jisung is so grateful for his mask is that it stops his emotions from laying bare in front of just anyone; right now the mask hides the tears of frustration and something else that threaten to blurry his vision. âHeâs a person, a human, heâs completely capable of helping as he is capable of causing harm and heâs decided to help you right now, why canât you accept that?â
âBecause I canât trust him, I donât know the man and to be honest Iâm terrified of him.â
Jisung couldnât pretend he didnât understand where Jeongin was coming from, the thing was that he understood a bit too well and that bothered him. âIâm not asking you to like him or even trust him but trust me when I tell you that he is trying to help and that he will go far and beyond to do everything in his hands to ensure that youâre safe.â
Jeonginâs face twists in confusion before his hands hurry to smooth down his expression back into indifference. âI trust you because youâre the superhero here but donât for a moment think Iâll forgive him.â
Hesitation comes once again, this time in the form of words stuck on his throat. This isnât only about his confusing opinion on some individuals or the people he decided to befriend, this was about everything that laid in between, waiting for Jisung to work it out.
The questions from yesterday that had begun years back and the answers that he received along with the ones he pretended he didnât have. Perhaps it was too about being the best hero he could even if sometimes he lacked too much.
âHeroes are what you make of them and so are bad guys. You just need to keep an open mind and understand that not everything is so black and white.â Is all that ends up tumbling down from his lips and at the moment, all that he can feel proud of.
Standing right in that grey area Jeongin looks stunned at Jisungâs words for a moment, then comes a silent resignation that reaches all the way from Jeonginâs eyes to Jisungâs chest and squeezes his heart harshly.Â
Jisung only hopes that trying is good enough, because the more time that goes by the more heâs convinced that he doesnât deserve to be called a hero. Not when he stands there defending and vouching for people that he has the audacity to judge himself.
âWhere do you know this person from?â Felix says while holding Jisungâs phone in front of Jeongin, displaying a picture of the person that had hired Felix to get rid of Jeongin.
âHow the fuck do you know about that?â Is Jeonginâs immediate response and Jisung would be lying if he said he wasnât surprised at hearing the young doctor cursing so openly.Â
âOkay, thatâs not the kind of reaction I was expecting.â The look that Felix throws his way would make him laugh if only the context were different.
âWe donât know anything, that's why weâre asking you. This is the man that wanted you dead,â Jisung begins with his hands held outstretched in front of Jeongin, akin to how one would raise their hands to try and calm a wild animal. âSo why donât you tell us what you know about him?â
At the question Jeongin looks absolutely mortified, like Jisung that one time Minho came back early from work to find him putting on his very own âand lousyâ choreographies around the apartment while only wearing his underwear. It really was that level of mortification. Â
âPlease, donât think poorly of me just because of this.â Jeongin hangs his head low and directs his eyes towards the floor where their feet wait unmovable. Jisung has to swallow the desire to tell him that asking not to be judged based on one decision after having done so himself was a bit rich coming from him.Â
Neither Jisung nor Felix say anything, they simply wait for the man in front of them to find the courage to admit to the actions that seem to bring him so much grief.Â
âI needed the money.â Thatâs what escapes Jeonginâs mouth first. âBack when I began my research not many people were willing to fund me so I tried looking for funding anywhere I could and he- well, he was the first person that agreed to give me the money I needed.â
Jisungâs hand falls atop Jeonginâs shoulder with a steady weight, making the latter look up from the tiles reflecting the blue lighting of the room. âThatâs nothing to feel ashamed about, you ended up using the money well, didnât you?â Jisung asks while pointing around the lab with his free hand.Â
Slowly and unsure Jeongin nods before redirecting his gaze to Felix, as if somehow he couldnât look directly at Jisung after having admitted to borrowing money from a shady guy or perhaps wondering if Felix judged him for it.
âSo you owe this man money?â the blond man asks with a confused tilt to his voice, as if he was unconvinced that was reason enough for someone to wish to kill a man.Â
âNo, I paid him back soon after the whole research picked up. But he seemed to think that paying him back wasnât enough.â A long sigh escapes Jeonginâs lips as his right hand rubs at his own neck in frustration. âHe told me I would always owe him no matter what. He said his faith in me wasnât something I could simply pay him back for.â
âGod, I-â Agitated, Jeongin rose to his feet and began pacing around the room. âI didnât know what he meant at first but then he kept asking about how the research was coming along and thatâs when I knew I had to get away.
Thatâs what I thought you were trying to get yesterday, the files on the research, it hadnât crossed my mind that he was sending someone to kill me.â
Jisung looked at Felix and found his friend looking directly back at him; now this made much more sense to both of them.Â
âWhy didnât you say anything?â Jisung mused.Â
âWhat was I supposed to say? Hello Spiderman, I made a deal with some shady people a while back and now they seem to be trying to kill me?!â
âYes! Thatâs kind of exactly what you shouldâve said.â Jisung was about to go on when a gunshot reverberated on the walls of the laboratory. It seemed like some people were in a real rush to get rid of Jeongin.
They didnât have much time to react afterwards, shock freezing Jeongin on the spot and expectation pushing the remaining two to assume their fighting stances before someone came in through the door.Â
âTake Dr. Yang to a safe place, Iâll take care of this,â Felix said once a second gunshot was heard.Â
Realistically speaking, Jisung wouldnât know what to do with a possible hired assassin, besides sticking him onto the wall with his webs and hope they would take a long time getting out of there. But he also wasnât sure if he wanted to leave things at Felixâs mercy, because the gun his friend held in his right hand said a lot about how things would end.
Just because he wasnât the one pulling the trigger could he pretend the responsibility didnât fall on him at all. Jisung thinks thereâs enough blood in his hands as it is and even though he knows heâd sooner or later learn to sleep peacefully in spite of it, it doesnât mean he wants to.
âPlease donât kill them,â escapes Jisungâs lips almost by accident but he means every single word.
âWhat do you mean?â Felix asks, almost sounding offended. âI canât not do it.â
The world collapses atop Jisungâs chest, knocking all the breath out of his lungs. He takes a couple of steps until heâs standing in front of Felix and grabs his friend by the shoulders. âPlease donât kill them, promise me you wonât do it. Thereâs always another way.â
âJis-â his friend started whispering before another bullet cut through the air. Jisung only feels himself being pushed to the side, staggering to find balance before he takes in the bullet sinking onto Felixâs torso. Â
Felix frees a bullet of his own, a diversion that allows him to say, âget out of here and donât worry, I wonât do it.â
With his eyes, Jisung begs for his friend to mean every word uttered. Deciding to trust him, he turns his back to him and runs to escape.Â
The movies always make the flying scenes where the heroes hold an innocent civilian by the waist and take them somewhere safe seem really romantic. Jisung couldnât find anything romantic in Jeongin screaming right beside his ear.
âI need you to relax!â Jisung exclaims only when the threat of a headache begins forming at the front of his head. He isnât being paid enough for this, mainly because he isnât being paid at all.Â
Jeongin answers him with another loud shriek, his arms tightening even more around Jisungâs neck to which the latter reacted by chuckling humorlessly.Â
Thankfully it wasnât long before they stopped swinging around the city, finding temporary refuge on the emergency staircase of an apartment building. Both men let out a big sigh, each one for very different reasons but equally grateful their little trip seemed to be over.Â
He could see Jeongin question look mixing with his nauseated expression once Jisung knocked on the window that was placed right in front of them. He knocked and knocked until an annoyed brunet man appeared.Â
âHello Seungmin,â Jisung began with his voice slightly higher than usual. âWould you be a dear and help me out by looking over this man for a short while?â
âWhat the hell?â Was all Seungmin uttered before letting his judgemental stare register the entirety of Jeonginâs existence.Â
âThatâs not a very nice way to greet a guest,â Jisung said with a pout that immediately disappeared once Seungminâs glare was redirected to him. âPlease, itâs an emergency, literal life and death situation.â
âYouâre only making things sound way worse now. At least try to convince me.â
âSeungmin, there isnât time for this right now.â At that Seungmin crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares at him expectantly. âUgh, okay, you win. Iâll take you with me to the next high risk situation I have. I promise.â
âThe next two.â The other manâs tone sounds like his offer is non negotiable.
 âDo you want to die?â
âYouâre already putting me in harmâs way right now, I might as well get something good out of it.â Jisung doesnât fight anymore simply because Seungmin is right and he wonât ever admit that out loud. Instead he simply urges Jeongin with the gestures of his hands to get inside Seungminâs apartment.Â
âWho is this man?â Are the first words Jeongin says after they arrive; Jisung and Seungmin exchange a look and the latter speaks up saying âIâm his, uh, photographer.â
âAnd apparently his babysitter,â he adds under his breath a moment before helping Jeongin climb inside from the window.Â
âI owe you one, really, thanks.â Jisung would put on his best charming smile before taking his leave but the mask hindered his charismatic weapon useless.Â
âJust keep your part of the deal,â Seungmin says before closing the window in front of his face.
Some people say the scars you get along the way are important lessons you arenât meant to forget. Perhaps thatâs why Felix keeps touching the bullet hole on his suit that allows a peak of skin to shine through; the patches on the material are the scars his skin canât keep.Â
Our scars can both remind us of our fragility and prove how far weâve come. Jisung hopes with his entire heart that the miniscule whole on Felixâs suit will remind him thereâs always other ways to deal with things.Â
He wonât thank Felix for not killing the person that came after Jeongin, because those arenât the kind of things you thank people for. But he makes sure that his friend catches a glimpse of his relieved expression once he realises Felix kept his promise.Â
Jisung convinces Felix to take the person to the police station and makes a show out of the latter being the one that had caught them. Maybe because he wants more people to see Felix as he does or simply because it keeps making Felix giggle and elbow him on the ribs so that he stops.
Maybe even because he feels guilty beyond words. Every disparaging comment people make about his friend, every dirty look people cast his way; it all reminds him of the times Jisung had doubted or judged Felix too.
Seeing how Jeongin had treated Felix, how he was relentlessly unforgiving, had opened Jisungâs eyes to a nasty reality. He too was quick to resent people and believe that they werenât actually capable of change.Â
Even when he went about life preaching that everyone could choose the right path any given day, he didnât really believe in his own words. Jisung was a hypocrite, a bad friend, and perhaps a bad person too.Â
âIâm sorry about what I said yesterday,â Jisung suddenly announced to the silence that had chased them for a while now.Â
Felix turned to look at him for a second; Jisung couldnât see his expression because of the mask but he noticed the confusion lacing his friendâs silence.Â
âYesterday at the rooftop, when I asked you why you kept taking these jobs.â Jisung didnât even know if bringing it up was okay or if apologising was the right thing to do, he just knew it was the thing he wanted to do. âI donât want you to think that I judge you for the things you do. I actually strive to be a little more like you.â
Without skipping a beat Felix circled Jisungâs shoulders with his arm and brought him close. âYou make me want to be a better person too. And if I were to be completely honest, youâre the last person that Iâd ever feel judged by.âÂ
At that Jisung almost tears up and throws caution out the window just to stop and hug his friend, one of those specially warm and long hugs; that is until his arm gets nudged by a gun and he remembers where they are.Â
The blond man is nonchalant about this and even goes as far as lightly slapping away the gun the man behind Jisung is holding before saying, âcanât you see weâre having a moment right now?â
Jisung doesnât think he has ever seen someone look more confused in his entire life. The man that was escorting them at gunpoint to meet the person that had hired Felix, stood looking dazed for a moment before lowering his gun and ushering them to begin walking again.Â
When both Jisung and Felix were involved it was hard to keep things professional and solemn, which wasnât always a great thing until it was, like when they got taken less seriously because of it. No matter how goofy or utterly ridiculous they can get, they still spend their days fighting and that is something that should never be overlooked.Â
But, alas, people always overlooked it, which is why both Jisung and Felix get to work as soon as they step foot inside the manâs office. Like clogs on a mechanism, they move deliberately in ways that allows them to be efficient.
Felix takes one step forward and out of Jisungâs way before the latter stretches his arms to the sides and shoots webs in the direction of the two unsuspecting men that stand guarding the door, one of which had scourted them there in the first place.Â
He pulls his arms towards him with all of his strength and brings his victims face down on the floor. Thatâs as far as Jisungâs contribution goes, because if he were to be fully sincere, he only had a vague idea of Felixâs plan.Â
Earlier when they were having breakfast, the blond man had only explained to him that he wanted to find out the reason why Jeongin was being targeted before deciding how they would go about solving this problem. Later, when Jeongin had finally revealed the motives to them, Felix had only asked Jisung to follow him and that entailed helping the former too.Â
Helping Felix with what exactly? That much he did not know, so he settled for staying near the entrance door and throwing some cautious webs to further stick the men to the floor while Felix kept walking closer towards the desk placed in the middle of the room.Â
The man that had hired Felix looked as relaxed as ever, arms crossed behind his neck and smile all too confident. His eyes completely disregarded Jisungâs presence moments after the shock of the commotion had worn off, but they kept following Felix's figure like he was trying to predict the blondâs movements.Â
However, he seemed to fail at the aforementioned task when Felix took him by surprise and slammed his head against the desk with one brutal hit. The man groaned in pain exactly when Jisungâs eyes were opening wider than ever before.Â
Calmly, Felix hovered behind the man and took out his gun from the holder on his leg before pressing the end of the barrel to the manâs temple.Â
Jisung stood there, taking the scene in without moving an inch. For the very first time he could say with all confidence that he trusted Felix and whatever choice his friend would end up making, he would live with it.Â
âListen here you piece of shit,â Felix began in a fathomless voice that made a shiver run down Jisungâs spine, âyou either leave Dr. Yang alone or Iâll blow your brains out, understood?â
Felix accentuated his comment with a threatening push of his gun against the manâs head that seemed to elicit a less than satisfying response if Felixâs reaction was anything to go by. Without a second to spare Felix moved his gun away from the manâs head and fired.Â
The sound made Jisungâs eyes snap shut for a split second; once he opened them back again he was met by the sight of a man scared shitless and basically being forced to watch the gaping hole embedded onto the wood of his desk.
A whimper came tumbling down from the lips that had been previously curled up with a smirk and finally Felix seemed to be satisfied with what he had in front of him.
When Jisung had said he strived to be a little bit more like Felix, he really meant every word.Â
His friend walks away from the desk just enough for the man to deem it safe to sit back up, which proves to be a mistake once Felix retaliates by punching the manâs face down back into the desk.Â
Nonchalant as ever Felix walks towards Jisung, wraps one of his arms around Jisungâs shoulders and turns him around so they can simply walk away from there, not before adding, âI doubt he will bother us again.â
This time Jisung doesnât feel the need to look back and grimace, instead he lets a soft laugh he didnât know he was holding in and walks away feeling as light as he did the morning of the day before.
âKneel before your gracious saviour,â Jisung exclaimes loud and clear right after having opened Seungminâs window from outside and waltzing inside the apartment.Â
From behind him Felix laughs in the bright and sweet way that only he can do, not even trying to play humble as he raises his hands in the air and waits for the crowd to acclaim him in the same fashion Jisung had jokingly promised.
Thereâs no apparent celebration though, as Seungmin simply reaches out to pause the movie playing on his tv and spares them a glance before rising to his feet. âThis means Iâm being relieved of my babysitter duties, right?â
Jisung wants to punch Seungmin âsoftly, of courseâ for not playing along but simply nods in reply.Â
âBy the way,â Seungmin speaks up again, âI would really appreciate it if you stopped bringing strangers into my home.â
âOh, sure. Weâll just pick up Jeongin and then weâll go.â The way Jisung said it made it sound like they were picking up a kid from school, it made everyone in the room laugh except for Jeongin, of course. Jeongin who sits on the couch looking at them with expectant eyes that ask for answers that Jisung was more than glad to give.
âYou have nothing else to worry about, weâve settled things with this man and he shouldnât be bothering you anymore. If he does then you just need to call and weâll take care of it.â
An invisible veil of tension lifted from the room once Jisung finished speaking, some simple words could put an end to such a stressful situation, simply words like the âthank youâ Jeongin said before adding, âto the both of you.â
Simple words and simple actions, simply acknowledging that you werenât so right after all, not so sure even if you stood proudly and proclaimed things out loud. As simple as forgiveness and understanding.Â
âIâm sorry for what happened earlier today,â Jeongin says before standing up and taking a couple of hesitant steps towards Felix. âDonât get me wrong, you did try to kill me and I donât think Iâll be quite over that anytime soon but Iâm really sorry to have been so quick to judge you.â
âI donât blame you for holding a grudge so donât worry,â Felix speaks from under the mask. Jisung thinks that maybe he could say Felix is a good person after all, a forgiving, considerate, and nice person with a unique moral compass.Â
âNo, really, I was wrong to think you wouldnât help me and in the end Jisung was right.â Jeonginâs eyes find their way to Jisung for a moment, this time glimmering with something more hopeful. âHeroes really are what we make of them, and you saved me today.â
Thereâs a silence that fills the room and many looks that are exchanged between the four men standing there, a handful of meanings and feelings that Jisung doesnât dare put a name to.Â
âIâm just glad I could help,â Felix finally breaks the silence and everyone in that room can hear how much he truly means it.
âHeroes are what we make of them, huh? Since when are you so poetic Jisungie?â Felix asks in a teasing tone once theyâre alone, at the top of a building, with their masks pulled off. Itâs a repetition of the previous day, the sun hanging low on the sky once again.Â
Jisung is too tired to do something aside from ducking his head in embarrassment and say, âMinho-hyung was the one who said that, Iâve just kinda been repeating it a lot.â
âThat makes sense, it sounded way too smart for you to have said it.â
âFuck you, Lix.âÂ
The air brings along a silence thatâs barely disrupted by the noise of the bustling city underneath them, theyâre too high up for that. So they simply stay seated on the ledge and let the sun hide before their eyes.Â
âBut Minho-hyung is right,â Jisung finally says after what feels like forever, âwhat makes someone a hero is really up to us and today you were a real hero to more than one person.â
Felix looks almost bashful as he shakes his head and looks away. âWho wouldâve said that I would be called a hero by the one and amazing Spiderman?â
Jisung canât help but frown even if he doesnât really know why. âWeâre not so different, Spiderman isnât as good as the people make him out to be and you arenât as bad as people want you to believe you are.â
âSpiderman is a real hero though.â This time Felix is actually looking him directly in the eye and Jisung can see all the bits and pieces of hurt that swim on his pupils.Â
âI am Spiderman,â Jisung states matter-of-factly. âIâm human, Iâm faulty and flawed. Iâm just a person trying to help others and failing sometimes as I try.â
Wherever he went, Jisung didnât doubt he would keep being called a hero and getting his failures and mistakes justified because of it. But Jisung wouldnât let himself believe that anymore; he needed to accept all the bad along with the good and still be able to stand proud on his feet.
Because he was human but he was a hero to many as well, and he couldnât think of a better thing to do than try his best. He wanted to try to be the hero that people needed.
âThereâs no such thing as real heroes, weâre all just people trying to do what we think is best.â A childish grin takes hold of Jisungâs lips before he turns to face his friend. âAnd I think you did your best today.â
âYou did too, you always do.â Felix pats Jisungâs back before laughing at himself. âWho am I kidding, Iâm more a hug kind of guyâ
Unceremoniously Felix stands up and steps away from the ledge before turning to Jisung and opening his arms wide, the latter simply rolls his eyes but goes and hugs him because heâs also more into hugs.Â
âIâm really proud of you, hero,â Jisung says and this time the word feels right in his mouth.
âIâm home,â Jisung calls out the second after the door closes behind his back and he makes quick work of unlacing his shoes.Â
âAre there more existential crises for me today?â Minho asks from his place on the couch, only because he can see that Jisung is in a good mood.Â
Jisung lets out a breathy laugh before approaching the couch from behind. âNo, Iâm afraid you solved all my current problems with your wise words yesterday.â Minhoâs head is resting at the back of the couch so he can look at the other man; the words make him grin in a mix of satisfaction and relief.Â
âYouâre my hero,â Jisung adds before leaning down to plant a quick kiss on Minhoâs forehead. He has used the word hero more times today than in his entire life but it feels different, mainly because he thinks he finally understands what the word is meant to convey.
In the best Minho fashion his ears turn red at the tips before he snarks, âyouâre all sweaty and you smell, go take a shower,â just for the sake of diverting the attention to something else but himself.
âI really mean it, you practically saved the day today,â Jisung is quick to add before rushing to the bathroom in order to avoid his roommateâs habit of smacking people in the arm whenever he got too embarrassed.Â
Later under the steady flow of water Jisung relishes on how light his chest feels for the first time in too long. He doesnât need to worry about tomorrow or the day after, about whether heâs a good person or not, if he deserves what he has, or if heâs a good enough friend for the people he cares about.Â
Perhaps for the first in forever he feels content to reach the conclusion that he really isnât a hero because to him he's Jisung and heâs trying his best.
âHave you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?â he speaks up unceremoniously, as if he were reciting a line from his favourite poem in the world. âYou asked me that the first time we met, remember?â
word count: 1.537k
genre: angst, fluff.
song: aurora - runaway (s l o w e d + r e v e r b)
The moment Chan reaches to turn off the car he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. His hands are shaking, bringing his whole body along to sway until his heart begins picking up its pace once again.Â
Raindrops impact against the windshield, hiding the rest of the world from his eyes and ears that cannot recognise anything beyond the heavy downpour. For a moment he fears heâs at the wrong place but if anything, he is only at the wrong time.
With a defeated sigh he allows his head to fall forward and against the top of the steering wheel, unspoken words twisting his tongue on itself while simultaneously threatening to scream out everything that fear had stopped him from acknowledging with a proud voice before.
His options are few, his desires even less. In his mind heâs very well aware that thereâs only one thing he can do but his hands donât listen to reasoning now that theyâre required to. Heâs stuck on the timelessness of feeling everything so much that his bones rattle with a threat of falling apart. Â
A shaky exhale follows another deep breath, follows the desire of cowardice to drain from his veins once and for all. One more deep breath follows the dialling tone reverberating off the walls of his car, follows the single second of wanting something so much that fear doesnât even cross his mind.Â
âHello?â Your voice cuts through the rain and in return the rain drowns your silence that follows immediately behind.
âCould you come outside, please? I have something that I need to tell you.â Chan can barely recognise the shy voice escaping his lips, an enormous contrast to the confident one inside his head that doesnât think twice before screaming exactly what he wants to say.Â
He can hear the question that gets stuck in your throat before you hurriedly agree with a choked yes that barely makes itself known over the thundering leaping of his heart.
Chan knows that all it takes is one moment of bravery, a light push, and then he wonât be able to fight the inertia so he pushes the door open and gets out of his car for the rain to welcome him like a long-lost friend.
In front of him thereâs a house painted white that he can barely recognise until seconds later you walk out with your heart in one hand and all of your dreams on the other. You walk out like youâve always walked, too raw, too open, too undeserving of the bad things the universe throws around without a care.
Then you stare at him from the closest place you can without getting soaked under the rain, with concern drowning your eyes, turning them into bottomless pools of the kind of care weâre supposed to give out scarcely. You stare and give all that care away to him without second thought.
He feels the force of his own movements as he walks closer to you and decides that he doesn't have it in himself to worry about how he might look, rain hugging his clothes and dragging him down towards the floor, unshed tears posing as the reflection of the raindrops falling before him. He doesnât care if he looks like the biggest fool in the world because all he can care about right now is you.Â
Chan could swear it had been you from the very beginning of time itself, had been you since the first time he saw you and would continue to be you until the day he tried to fool himself to think it was no longer you who he cared about more than his own life.
âHave you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?â he speaks up unceremoniously, as if he were reciting a line from his favourite poem in the world. âYou asked me that the first time we met, remember?â
Personally he thought it would be impossible not to, because that drunken night had been a fairytale where you looked like the shining moon on an unexpecting night that hadnât prepared itself to transcend in the life and memory of the two people standing here and now.
Reminiscing about those words was looking back at a life where it felt like he had it all before he even rationalised having you. It was remembering the hazy image of your blinding smile and easy movements as you wandered among the streets with him trailing behind.
âRemember what I answered?â Without a second to spare you nod but he goes ahead and says it anyway. âI said I didnât know, I told you I wasnât sure if I had.â His past words sound beyond foolish to him now.
He knew that you had found his answer foolish too, by the way you stopped in your tracks and looked at him like he knew nothing about life. It was then perhaps that he had realised the entire world was hiding in your eyes.
Your answer then had been definitive and he would never be able to forget it. âYouâll know when it happens and only until then.â
âWell, I have a new answer for you so I need you to ask me again,â Chan says, his voice making it sound like a request that you could refuse, and you could, he would simply not know what to do if you did.Â
âHave you?â you ask, voice barely the shadow of your usual upbeat tone.Â
âHave I what?â Chan questions insistently, begging you to play along with him on this particular night where the sky seems as upset as the both of you.Â
Taking a deep breath you indulge him with a new found intent colouring your voice. âHave you ever loved someone so much that it hurts, Chan? Have you?â
In that moment he feels like his knees are going to give out under the weight of his relief while he nods as if the rain hitting the back of his head wasnât trying to force him to keep his head hung low.Â
âYes, I have, I do. I finally understand how it feels to love someone so much that it hurts to have them by your side as much as it hurts to have them leave you.â Eyes trained on yours, he continues, âI, once and for all, know how it feels to love someone to the point that theyâre the only thing that matters in the world.â
For his own foolishness, his very own and very heavy fears, for all the times he had dared hesitate in the past, he takes a step forward and another after that. Only a force as big as the universe could stop him at the time, and that force resided all in your voice.Â
âI love you,â he finally says in his last attempt to show you how much you had changed his entire life, how much he desired to stand with his soul in the open for you to watch in a similar way to how youâve dared to stand in front of everyone for the entirety of your life.Â
The force of your voice that only matched that of the whole world, trembled when you muttered his very own last three words back to him, and it was only then that Chan felt himself become the most powerful and unstoppable man to have ever stepped on this earth.Â
With the strength he had acquired by stepping out from his car, he moves closer until the rain can no longer reach him with its freezing hands. He moves closer until there is nowhere else to look at but you.Â
From that very first night he should've known that you were the only logical path to take, the only thing that meant enough to make his soul feel crushed and then more alive than ever seconds later with just a couple of words.Â
He watches you and looks for the stars in your eyes only to find constellations that have no name to human kind. If he had ever thought that it wouldnât be you, couldnât be you, then he had been trying to hide the moon behind his palm.
At that moment Chan only wants to say that he loves you more than words could ever express until he realises that saying that out loud would be yet another mistake. He doesnât allow himself to use words for something that clearly transcends them and simply leans towards you until your breaths become one.Â
With his hands cradling your face and a single approving movement of your head he resolves in pressing his lips against yours in what feels a lot like coming home after being lost for too long.Â
The moment Chan reaches out to hold you in between his arms he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. His hands are shaking, bringing his whole body along to sway until his heart begins picking up its pace right along yours.Â
Raindrops impact against the pavement, hiding the both of you from the rest of the world. Finally he knows heâs in the only place and time he would ever wish to be at.
oh my⊠there was something so utterly beautiful about the way you wrote this. it was as if you were trying to paint a picture through poetry. i loved the way you described everything through chanâs point of view and how you narrated the entire thing like some sort of poetic monologue rather than simply narrating a scene.
there were so many moments in the scene where i was like âgosh, these sentences must be deliberately selected. theyâre so beautifully structuredâ, and they really were!
this was such a pleasure to read, bestie. i loved every bit of it. the entire confession felt so raw yet⊠so cinematographic. there was something so absolutely whimsical about it almost. as if it were a movie scene. the backdrop, the desperation, the nerves, the question, the confession, the kiss⊠all of it so so beautiful đ
thank you so much, I smiled a lot while reading this. you're so absolutely sweet and I'm glad that someone caught onto the vibe I was trying to portray, because I wanted this to read like a scene from a romance movie. thank you, really. đ
O my!!! Your Chan fic is literally art, your sentences are so beautiful to read and convey the emotions so deeply letting them be felt and touched through words. Like standing in front of an artwork and admiring it and feeling open and exposed in front of the realisation that we all in the end need and crave the same things and the piece comforts you, and suddenly you don't so alone anymore. I will for sure read more of your works and thank you for sharing them!
that's such a beautiful way to describe the feeling. 'we all in the end need and crave the same things' exactly, you're absolutely right.
thank you so much for the sweet words and for taking the time to read, I hope you enjoy reading at least half of what I enjoyed while writing.
âHave you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?â he speaks up unceremoniously, as if he were reciting a line from his favourite poem in the world. âYou asked me that the first time we met, remember?â
word count: 1.537k
genre: angst, fluff, gn reader x chan.
song: aurora - runaway (s l o w e d + r e v e r b)
The moment Chan reaches to turn off the car he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. His hands are shaking, bringing his whole body along to sway until his heart begins picking up its pace once again.Â
Raindrops impact against the windshield, hiding the rest of the world from his eyes and ears that cannot recognise anything beyond the heavy downpour. For a moment he fears heâs at the wrong place but if anything, he is only at the wrong time.
With a defeated sigh he allows his head to fall forward and against the top of the steering wheel, unspoken words twisting his tongue on itself while simultaneously threatening to scream out everything that fear had stopped him from acknowledging with a proud voice before.
His options are few, his desires even less. In his mind heâs very well aware that thereâs only one thing he can do but his hands donât listen to reasoning now that theyâre required to. Heâs stuck on the timelessness of feeling everything so much that his bones rattle with a threat of falling apart. Â
A shaky exhale follows another deep breath, follows the desire of cowardice to drain from his veins once and for all. One more deep breath follows the dialling tone reverberating off the walls of his car, follows the single second of wanting something so much that fear doesnât even cross his mind.Â
âHello?â Your voice cuts through the rain and in return the rain drowns your silence that follows immediately behind.
âCould you come outside, please? I have something that I need to tell you.â Chan can barely recognise the shy voice escaping his lips, an enormous contrast to the confident one inside his head that doesnât think twice before screaming exactly what he wants to say.Â
He can hear the question that gets stuck in your throat before you hurriedly agree with a choked yes that barely makes itself known over the thundering leaping of his heart.
Chan knows that all it takes is one moment of bravery, a light push, and then he wonât be able to fight the inertia so he pushes the door open and gets out of his car for the rain to welcome him like a long-lost friend.
In front of him thereâs a house painted white that he can barely recognise until seconds later you walk out with your heart in one hand and all of your dreams on the other. You walk out like youâve always walked, too raw, too open, too undeserving of the bad things the universe throws around without a care.
Then you stare at him from the closest place you can without getting soaked under the rain, with concern drowning your eyes, turning them into bottomless pools of the kind of care weâre supposed to give out scarcely. You stare and give all that care away to him without second thought.
He feels the force of his own movements as he walks closer to you and decides that he doesn't have it in himself to worry about how he might look, rain hugging his clothes and dragging him down towards the floor, unshed tears posing as the reflection of the raindrops falling before him. He doesnât care if he looks like the biggest fool in the world because all he can care about right now is you.Â
Chan could swear it had been you from the very beginning of time itself, had been you since the first time he saw you and would continue to be you until the day he tried to fool himself to think it was no longer you who he cared about more than his own life.
âHave you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?â he speaks up unceremoniously, as if he were reciting a line from his favourite poem in the world. âYou asked me that the first time we met, remember?â
Personally he thought it would be impossible not to, because that drunken night had been a fairytale where you looked like the shining moon on an unexpecting night that hadnât prepared itself to transcend in the life and memory of the two people standing here and now.
Reminiscing about those words was looking back at a life where it felt like he had it all before he even rationalised having you. It was remembering the hazy image of your blinding smile and easy movements as you wandered among the streets with him trailing behind.
âRemember what I answered?â Without a second to spare you nod but he goes ahead and says it anyway. âI said I didnât know, I told you I wasnât sure if I had.â His past words sound beyond foolish to him now.
He knew that you had found his answer foolish too, by the way you stopped in your tracks and looked at him like he knew nothing about life. It was then perhaps that he had realised the entire world was hiding in your eyes.
Your answer then had been definitive and he would never be able to forget it. âYouâll know when it happens and only until then.â
âWell, I have a new answer for you so I need you to ask me again,â Chan says, his voice making it sound like a request that you could refuse, and you could, he would simply not know what to do if you did.Â
âHave you?â you ask, voice barely the shadow of your usual upbeat tone.Â
âHave I what?â Chan questions insistently, begging you to play along with him on this particular night where the sky seems as upset as the both of you.Â
Taking a deep breath you indulge him with a new found intent colouring your voice. âHave you ever loved someone so much that it hurts, Chan? Have you?â
In that moment he feels like his knees are going to give out under the weight of his relief while he nods as if the rain hitting the back of his head wasnât trying to force him to keep his head hung low.Â
âYes, I have, I do. I finally understand how it feels to love someone so much that it hurts to have them by your side as much as it hurts to have them leave you.â Eyes trained on yours, he continues, âI, once and for all, know how it feels to love someone to the point that theyâre the only thing that matters in the world.â
For his own foolishness, his very own and very heavy fears, for all the times he had dared hesitate in the past, he takes a step forward and another after that. Only a force as big as the universe could stop him at the time, and that force resided all in your voice.Â
âI love you,â he finally says in his last attempt to show you how much you had changed his entire life, how much he desired to stand with his soul in the open for you to watch in a similar way to how youâve dared to stand in front of everyone for the entirety of your life.Â
The force of your voice that only matched that of the whole world, trembled when you muttered his very own last three words back to him, and it was only then that Chan felt himself become the most powerful and unstoppable man to have ever stepped on this earth.Â
With the strength he had acquired by stepping out from his car, he moves closer until the rain can no longer reach him with its freezing hands. He moves closer until there is nowhere else to look at but you.Â
From that very first night he should've known that you were the only logical path to take, the only thing that meant enough to make his soul feel crushed and then more alive than ever seconds later with just a couple of words.Â
He watches you and looks for the stars in your eyes only to find constellations that have no name to human kind. If he had ever thought that it wouldnât be you, couldnât be you, then he had been trying to hide the moon behind his palm.
At that moment Chan only wants to say that he loves you more than words could ever express until he realises that saying that out loud would be yet another mistake. He doesnât allow himself to use words for something that clearly transcends them and simply leans towards you until your breaths become one.Â
With his hands cradling your face and a single approving movement of your head he resolves in pressing his lips against yours in what feels a lot like coming home after being lost for too long.Â
The moment Chan reaches out to hold you in between his arms he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. His hands are shaking, bringing his whole body along to sway until his heart begins picking up its pace right along yours.Â
Raindrops impact against the pavement, hiding the both of you from the rest of the world. Finally he knows heâs in the only place and time he would ever wish to be at.
I'm sobbing after reading forever your writing is amazing I feel like I'm reading an renowned author it's fantastic you make me feel the emotions that I'm reading please don't ever stop writing
thank you so much, really. I'm very flattered and happy after reading this.
Forever is nothing but wishful thinking of yesterday-shaped tomorrows that can't and won't stay true forever. So of course it feels right; fleeting moments always feel like forever.
word count: 1.039k
genre: angst, gn reader x jeongin
The sparkler in your hand burns in ember flickers and faux rays of sunlight as it consumes. I'll get burnt down to the bone and lose its ability to entice onlookers.
It looks beautiful, quite eye-catching as you swirl it around the air with careful movements of your wrist. You wish it could last forever.
Forever, forever, forever, the word is heavy against your heart because forever might be the most ridiculous word to exist in every other language.
Whoever, with full knowledge of cause, decided to give birth to the word, decided that language could have no meaning as it could mean everything at once.
Because forever is but a daft concept parched up with wishful thinking.
The sand under your feet, the people around you, the waves hitting shore and the moon up in the sky. Everything was only an inaddible fraction of forever amounting to nothing.
The word is truly useless and yet used so often that forever became the seal of every promise meant to break under the unhinged pressure of time.Â
You could taste every letter of the word against the tip of your tongue because you used forever since practically forever and it would be forever before you stopped.
And it was easy to try to hate the word for everything that it couldn't mean but so awfully hard not to use, because it felt right in those moments where it slipped from your tongue.
The thing about forever is that it always feels right until it doesn't. You can promise, say, preach, and dream about it, hold it close to your heart but you're not allowed to keep it.
Forever is nothing but wishful thinking of yesterday-shaped tomorrows that can't and won't stay true forever. So of course it feels right; fleeting moments always feel like forever.
Like damp grass under starry skies and moisture seeping through your clothes that almost feels like spending every day of the rest of your existence beside his side.
Because he whispered something about forever with his lips ghosting yours and the moonlight catching onto his ebony strands.
It feels magic, just right, meaningful after having lost faith in the word; but that's just how it feels every other time.
Still, just like everybody else, you ignore the previous times that you felt like forever might work and give in to making promises that won't last.
After all, Jeongin kissed you just right until you were melting through the cracks of his outstretched fingers, he knew all about the little quirks that accompanied you in life.
So why wouldn't forever be forever if he felt like it every single time? Why wouldn't it be when he whispered it in your ear and you whispered it right back?
If growing older is forever why the heart growing fonder couldn't be?
And that's where you failed to understand the concept of it all, because there was no precedent of what forever could stand for and yet it tried to stand for every little thing in your life.
For the months spent away and the ones you spent closer than ever before, for the small apartment you could barely afford, the promise of getting a dog together, and the time that ticked by in front of your eyes.
There is yet another curious thing about forever, some could even call it the unavoidable side effects of when forever turns into the lie that it was from the very beginning.
Forever can and will feel like a penance more than a blessing because perhaps forever can hold true but humans aren't strong enough to bear with it.
Because perhaps people don't even stay themselves forever, so there's no guarantee that forever could be true between two people meant for change.
Perhaps that was the reason why days spent in hopefulness of tomorrow turned to questions about today, interrogations that hadn't ever plagued your mind before, not with him.
Dreaded forever turned into another short moment in the entirety of time where a worn down forever thrown between you two finally broke down. You can remember the moment just right.
"You make me feel bad," you had said and perhaps those words still hurt more than the constant reminder of the forever that was.
"I don't know when or how things changed. I only know that being right here with you does not make me happy anymore. I feel miserable."Â
Feeling like you choked on air wasnât forever, you knew as much because today you could breathe just fine but right then it had felt like it would never stop.
Like the distraught expression on his face would be burnt onto the insides of your eyelids, like the eerie feeling of a fast approaching end would haunt you for an eternity to come.
You can remember him asking if there was anything he could do to fix things until you were both right where it all had started, happy and in love, tied by a promise of forever.
And you had wondered if the possibility of going back in time and erasing every forever you had uttered to each other would change the faith of your hearts.
If only the word forever hadn't played a part in what you had, would you have grown to love even more the things that you had woken up to simply tolerate one day.
The thing about forever, is that you spend forever wondering about the nonsense of it all.
Because it doesn't make sense and it never stays true, because it messes with your head and your life, because it always takes more than it gives.
And you do wonder if forever is a curse more than it ever is a promise.
Forever, forever, forever. You snap out of your own daze and there are no more sparks in front of your eyes.
There's only a not so empty beach and a not so empty heart inside your chest beating wildly at the reminder of how much you dread the word forever.
Nothing holds true, nothing is, nothing stays. But forever accompanies life with regret and it weighs down on your heart until you can't breathe anymore.
There was a butterfly there despite the season of no butterflies being in its apogee, odd to the sight like Minho who didn't feel like he belonged anywhere.
word count: 2.519k
genre: minho!ballet dancer, light angstÂ
song: Aiyana (come down) - Dreams We've HadÂ
It was 10°C when he first checked his phone after waking up; somehow it felt wrong to wake up to the exact same cold weather even when he was away from home. Madrid and Seoul were two different worlds and yet he woke up to the same cold.Â
Then there were the big round numbers on the screen of his phone, always at an hour that didnât match the sunlight he could see through the window. Even after months in a different country he still clung to being back in Korea; sometimes even daydreaming about what his friends might be doing whenever he checked the hour.Â
His steps were the same, the face staring at him from the mirror still had the same familiar features like the mole decorating the left side of his nose but he didnât feel close to the same Minho he once knew.Â
Without much hurry he stepped out of the apartment he shared with someone that had shared merely ten words with him during his whole stay, his phone buzzed in the pocket of his coat and he simply ignored the âHan Jisungâ clouding his notifications.Â
A chill crept under the fabric of his sweatpants, forcing him to stop, shudder, and wonder. Every pause in his schedule drove him to wonder about everything and anything, so he prefered not to stop for too long.Â
He glanced at the side for a moment, eyes lingering on the withering flowers outside, almost missing the sight of a butterfly standing unmovable by his eagerness to not stop and prevent himself from second guessing his every decision.Â
Almost, because the moment he turned away he felt the need to look again due to his heart stopping in place. There was a butterfly there despite the season of no butterflies being in its apogee.Â
His feet took him closer and before he could even stop himself he was crouching in front of the creature, observing with worry weighing down on his brows every detail on the butterfly's wingsÂ
âYouâre not supposed to be here. What are you doing?â His breath hitched after hearing his voice evoking the words he had many times asked himself only in his head, it made his heart ache.Â
He couldnât tell for certain what caused the butterfly to fly away from him at that moment but some part of Minho wanted to think that it had been his words, thinking that at least someone had the decency to go home when they were meant to instead of staying behind where they didnât belong like a fool.Â
The minutes he spent inspecting the creature that stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of winter in Madrid were enough to make him late, ruining his perfectly planned schedule that allowed him to arrive not one minute early or late.Â
âLamento la tardanza. (My apologies for being late.)â Was all that Minho scrambled to say as he almost sprinted towards the changing rooms. The choreographer murmured something under his breath at that and if he was speaking in Spanish it completely slipped from Minhoâs knowledge that he liked to think wasnât that limited.Â
Inside the changing room he began stripping off his outerwear that stopped him from walking in tights in the middle of the street, letting his head get lost in the many languages that soared and mixed inside the room, many languages that never included his own.Â
Many of the other dancers spoke Spanish the same way he did, with an accent that did something weird to the râs and a limited vocabulary that left them wishing to be able to express themselves better. Nobody else spoke Korean.Â
And so his day began, stretching his limbs on an empty stomach and standing with pristine posture while someone loudly announced the days they had left before the rows of seats in front of the stage were all occupied.Â
It slipped in between practice that meant repetition that drilled moves into his muscle memory so he could dance even in his sleepâhe already did. Kept going with his phone buzzing a couple of times and the number of messages unread incrementing on his screen.Â
But it wasnât until he stopped in the middle of his workout right after practice that he wondered again, hunching over himself and gripping at his knees while wondering when it was his turn to finally rest.Â
When you love to do something, tiredness doesnât weigh down on your chest like something that tries to squeeze your heart out; back when he had started dancing he was happy to stay hours behind in the studio and practice until his limbs gave up on him.Â
A whole month after being chosen for a show directed by a prestigious choreographer he started questioning what love meant because he wanted to love what he did but he couldn't love the dark circles under his eyes and how tired he was to try and reach out to anyone for help as he felt himself wither away the same way autumn had after his arrival to Madrid.Â
âÂżEstĂĄ todo bien? (Is everything alright?)â The voice of a stranger snapped him out of his train of thoughts and reminded him that he was out in public. He had half the mind to reply that in fact nothing seemed to be alright but he felt guilty just at the thought.
If he could then he would sit across from a perfect stranger and talk about his fears and shortcomings, the things that troubled his mind and kept him awake past an acceptable hour, the uncertainty of not feeling good enough. Â
If Minho could, he would pretend to be someone he wasnât in a city he didnât belong to, someone who knew the language of said city to perfection and wasnât hesitant to accept he hid in order to hide he didnât think of himself as enough.
His body had morphed into what was needed of him, strong legs and firm arms that didnât bulge under the sleeves of his sweaters, but his mind wasnât just as strong, he kept lamenting in silence while giving himself away to routine.Â
Days turned into weeks, not haunted by strange butterflies out of place but stray thoughts of how different things would be if he didnât dance, didnât do exactly what he had wished to do ever since he can remember.Â
Hating and adoring something at the same moment were what fired his energy on stage; he was almost certain it had been that fire that had landed him his place in the very same stage that had only made his worries and questions grow bigger.Â
He could see it in everyoneâs tired eyes, the same fear and questions urging them to walk faster, dance harder, push themselves further beyond what is okay; it didnât soothe the pain in his chest but it made him feel less alienated.Â
In the middle of a group of people that spoke through their movements that were beautiful because of their pain he felt understood and so he gave his soul away to his last days surrounded by them.Â
The day he had been working for came just as the snow set itself deeper in Seoul, making up for the perfect picture of the Christmas that was about to come and he tried his best not to cry at the messages of his friends wishing him good luck in a language he was familiar with.Â
He stood behind closed curtains and exhaled his fears away; on stage he was no longer Lee Minho but a vessel to a story told in between soft movements and music that carried his feet in the right way, his ache was no longer his but his dance itself.Â
And once he began dancing; just like every other time, he remembered why he had grown to love the pain so much, remembered that he had never attained something without suffering for it.
It was always easier to tiptoe around the ache and complaints of his body when the reflectors warmed his skin and blocked the view of all the eyes placed on him.
It was easier to simply love something for the satisfaction that came from being observed with awe; the feeling always tasted like ambrosia against his tongue.
Time slipped away, this time even faster than before because love was easier to endure than pain as unfair as it sometimes felt.
The ending scene came before Minho could voice a complaint at how the performing time always seemed to be too little and he saw a butterfly as he stepped onto the middle stage for the last time that night.
He couldn't snap his head in the direction he thought he had seen the butterfly, couldn't check if it had been something else but a mirage but his heart could stop at the mere thought.
Being up in the air felt like flying despite the short amount of time he stood defying gravity; it was magnificent, freeing, and all the good things he knew passion brought to one's soul. But then he felt it, the weight of his body shifting abnormally and before he could even land he already knew what was about to come.
Once you get used to the feeling of your body doing everything and more, you're never able to forget it. Minho knows that what he feels isn't what he's supposed to and he quickly becomes aware that something is about to go wrong.
His expression remained serene while he tried to do something, anything, to fix what could end up as a disastrous landing. There was only a second at his disposal, and he knew he needed to look graceful upon landing either way, so he couldnât screw things up.
When his first feet touched the ground there was a ripple of pain travelling up his spine but he kept going, lowering his other foot to the ground and taking the extra steps that were needed until the piece was done.
The moments that he had to wait patiently and still while the curtains closed were perhaps the most dreadful he had experienced in a long time, even more so than his last couple of months. The pain was searing, forming beads of sweat on his hairline and making him awfully aware of his every breath and heartbeat.
His right ankle constantly went from being hard to feel to make him want to wince out in agony, his breath sounded awfully loud and almost choked to his own ears, there were tears forming on the corners of his eyes but he didnât dare spill them yet.
It wasnât until the velvety, deep red curtains covered every centimeter of the stage he felt himself go limp and fall. Again he experienced time stretching out as his body moved without elegance towards the floor.
He could feel his face contorted in the same known displeasure he had experienced the time he took a bite of the lemon cheesecake Jisung had ordered the last time they went out. He suddenly wondered what all the unread messages from his friend said, regretting not answering back when all he wanted was someone by his side.
He wasnât the most avid texter but that was hardly an excuse for his last months of solitude , the only explanation was that he âsometimes not so consciouslyâ liked to isolate himself, especially while having a hard time.Â
But he wished he hadn't, wished to have expressed to his older friend, Chan, how grateful he was for all the support he had received from him and perhaps tell the rest of the bunch how much he loved them even if it was in a playful way, because he knew they would understand he meant it.
He wished he had done something not to ache until his bones wore away while being away from home, because all he had attempted to do was force more pain down his own throat.
The fall felt painfully similar to an end, and thatâs why he couldnât but regret millions of things he had left undone to this day.Â
Much to his surprise, when his body finally landed loosely on the floor, the butterfly from before was right before his eyes, more prepossessing than ever. The only difference was that this time one of its wings seemed to be injured.
Through the floor he could feel the vibrations of hurried steps approaching his figure but everything sounded muffled, it reminded him of being underwater, and most specifically that one time Chan had convinced them all to go on a trip to his charming homeland and they ended up spending most of their time there swimming and making fools out of themselves.
As his memory came to an end his eyes went back to focusing on the butterfly resting near his face. He felt hands come in contact with the fabric covering his skin that did a poor job at keeping the warmth of others away from his skin, but all he could focus on was the butterfly, charming despite the pain it brought him to see it injured; beautiful because of the pain.
"Why?" Was all he could ask out loud, to himself and the butterfly; this time he had an answer for why he had been there for so long.
Love was painted to be easy and beautiful, nobody really talked about the exhaustion that could turn into resentment and the hardships that made you want to give up everything.
Love actually meant staying through it all, in spite of it. Minho had stayed because the ugly parts had made the good parts even more beautiful.
He could feel lost and unprepared if it helped him in the process of getting better, he could be scared and purposefully loud about it with people who understood him despite any language barrier that might ever exist.
His schedule dissolved in the winter that stayed the same on his way from Madrid to finally being home, ever so unchanging through his flight and bandaged ankle that still ached.
When he stepped foot into the airport he found himself almost running despite his healing injury, running to end up in Chan's arms despite how much Minho liked to say he disliked hugs.
His fall had been an end, to his time in Madrid, his incessant questioning and a cycle that would hopefully not repeat itself once he began practicing again because this time the hardship felt okay.
And once he got into Chanâs car and he began driving towards Minho's apartment he could swear he saw a butterfly fly past his window; he laughed at himself for not thinking of it being there as odd despite the deeply rooted snow of the scenery.
the last time I posted something for the "things you said" drabble collection it was august 8th, so there was a double eight. and now I'm posting on november 11th.
"I guess this is goodbye then." Jisung chuckled to himself, a breathy laugh that was devoid of the amusement it should carry. "At least until we cross paths again."
Minho would need to lack every drop of common sense not to notice how Jisung fumbled with his closed umbrella, trying to push the inevitableâhis parting and with him Minhoâs heart as well.
Perhaps he did lack common sense and on top of that conviction, because not even the pouring rain knocking on every window and the look of disappointment on the younger man's face stopped him from nodding, accepting fate like he was too tired to fight against it.
And wasn't he tired already? Of things not going their way, opportunities slipping through their fingers like fine sand, words getting stuck on his throat due to the same appalling fear rooting his feet in place.
Jisung looked hopeless and tired too, perhaps he was tired due to the same casualties straining Minhoâs heart inside his chest, but the truth was neither of them seemed brave enough to try and find out.
With one last smile and an unexpected kiss planted on Minhoâs cheek, Jisung opened the faux piece of sky he had been playing with, in order to walk into the rain protected.
If only Minho were braver, more confident, less hesitant; Jisung wouldn't need to have his soles splashing on the muddy ground, droplets of regret splattering the way he was meant to walk further away from him.
Watching his figure move further away deprived him from oxygen; the sudden realization that an eternity could pass before he ever beheld that head of fluffy and perfectly soft chestnut hair made his feet slowly unglue from the floor beneath him.
It was true that Minho was many things but brave or an eminence at making his feelings known, but what he lacked he always tried to compensate with being unapologetically his true self; letting the love of his life walk away wouldn't exactly be true to that statement.
Splashing sounds were born under his hurried feet that moved in haste to catch up with Jisung who had walked even farther away as he gathered the courage to take a decision; not even the maddened sky could stop him from chasing after the one thing he had ever wanted in life.
With a little less care than he wanted, Minho gripped Jisung's left arm once he finally caught up to him, directing him to turn around and face his soaked frame.
The spark of surprise couldn't be missed on the younger man's pupils, seemingly widening ever so slightly at the same time Jisung's umbrella moved to accept Minho under its care and protection.
"Are we really going to do this?" Minho asked, breathless and puzzled at his own lack of knowledge of what exactly he wanted to say, and yet, being perfectly aware that every word about to spill from his lips was perfectly right and pertinent.
His fingertips lingered for a moment atop the fabric of Jisung's coat, right before they traveled to softly trace the cheekbones of the smaller framed man holding dearly onto the handle of his umbrella as if his world was about to collapse if he didn't.
"Are we going to go through the whole you leaving," Minho brushed a strand of Jisung's hair out of his face, "me staying, both of us regretting this for as long as we remember?"
Dazed, the younger of the two shook his head ever so slowly, progressively melting into Minhoâs touch before simply whispering, "I don't want to."
"Me neither," Minho answered immediately, this time without the luxury of overthinking the million what ifs; whoever did that in liberty was a fool the same size of what Minho had been.
Both of Minhoâs hands moved to cradle Jisung's face in them, their faces inching closer seconds later and their lips finally meeting in the same fashion the older man had only ever allowed himself to dream of.
However Minho had fantasised that kissing Jisung would feel, made no justice to the real thing, to the warmth and softness of the younger's lips against his and the pure affection that being so intimately close could bring.
Jisung's hands found purchase in Minhoâs dark strands as they tried to get impossibly closer. Beside them was a forgotten umbrella that collected raindrops like they were the most prized possession on earth.
They moved apart from each other when the inconveniently timed raindrops seeped between their connected lips and when they became conscious that what surrounded them was nothing but a street temporarily deserted due to the pouring rain.
"Maybe I'm selfish," Minho began right after he caught his breath, "but I don't want you to go anywhere. Would I be asking too much of you if I asked you to stay?"
With a heartfelt and joyous laugh, Jisung denied with the hurried motion of his head; reaching to wrap his arms around Minhoâs neck and moving closer so their lips brushed together with every word pronounced, he said, "I was hoping you would ask; I have about a thousand backup plans in case you asked me to stay."
What big fools they had been while pretending they could simply walk away from each other just as easily as the rain poured.
Minho could do nothing else but smile like the foolishly in love man that he was, right before kissing Jisung again, knowing for sure that he had all the time in the world to do so.
