sacrilege

To all my friends, you'll find your way. Some summer night, I hope I see you again. All my friends, I'd love to stay. Some summer night, I hope I see you again.

[x-changmin]

« I RE-MADE YOU, SHIM CHANGMIN. »

I said I'd catch you if you fall and if they laugh, then fuck 'em all and then I got you off your knees put you right back on your feet just so you can take advantage of me

[topsica]

↬ 3rd Clue by TVXQ

[tchcshinki]

[shimchangmn]

look who’s here to save christmas!!!

[tohoshinqui]

first clue — lonely

[sefuns]

This look 👌 // ‘운명 (The Chance of Love)’ MV

[x-changmin]

x-krystal:

she was never known for being comforting. that is, jung soojung doesn’t begin to know way or how to. what she could do for him after all these years, short of being there—she doesn’t know. rather, she was never equipped with the knowledge, the how-tos, the teachings. 

no, prior to shim changmin, the renegade knew nothing of compassion, guilt, mercy. and even so, now, now—even if she felt things a human not a girl raised for war feels—even now, she hadn’t a single clue as to what to do.

what her heart will do with constant ache, twist, clench in correspondence to every empty stare, pale scar, and bouts of hallucinations.

what can she do for shim changmin?

“i came to see you.” the answer is soft, simple enough that it would have sufficed. soojung didn’t bother with any other explanation—it wasn’t a lie after all—fingers squeezing his slightly. 

“am i not welcome?” 

it is but an useless quip. made to draw the slightest of humor back into her tone. soojung is well aware of the dulling alarms in the background, masked by the pour of rain and the beat of her heart. 

                  effortlessly, still.                   even with just a simple touch.

but normalcy, in this case, was something they both needed.

“let’s go in.” she tugs him into with practiced ease, sharp eyes flicking over his features. changmin didn’t need to be told twice, she’s aware, more compliant than not in this state of mind. still, soojung offers an excuse, anyhow. allows the slightest bit of shiver to run up her spine.

“it’s cold.”

normalcy, in this case, (a hard pill to swallow in the face of reality) meant acting as if they actually had a choice in the matter.

comfort comes with her answer, with the touch she’s always offered so freely. if anything has remained with him over the years it is the feeling of her fingertips on his skin; the sound of her breath in the quiet—in the most deafening cacophonies of war. it is the look in her eyes when she’s watching him, as if he’s something more than an old, faded shell—worthy of the lucid and unflinching devotion she shows him.

he couldn’t dream of anything more.

“you are.” he pushes the words out on an exhale, dark eyes scanning their surroundings before landing on her. changmin catches her shiver, knows as well as he is standing there, in that moment—that it is something she’s let slip through. the thought brings a smile to his lips, though it never quite reaches, “okay.”

before her, he’s a beast without claws—without teeth, without bone.

disarmed. vulnerable.

he lifts their joined hands to press a kiss to her curled fingertips, lashes fluttering in the ever-strengthening onslaught of rain. his body, already ill-fit for the conditions, shakes minutely. if only they could see him now. lieutenant nam jaehyun; cold, bitter, and hateful—hopelessly in love with a pretty little mutant.

no, that’s not right.

first class brotherhood member, shim changmin—deathly allergic to being cold and wet. forcefully, he grounds himself into that reality, brows furrowing in consternation as he turns his focus outward. his focus falls on her petite form with all the strength he can muster, as he leans in to kiss her temple.

for a moment, he can’t move—caught in the wild clenching of his heart. she’s here.

“let’s go.”

having never been much for words, he tugs her along to the run-down shop next door and pushes in. warmth greets them—a heavy but welcome specter guiding them upstairs, beyond the garage and closer to the tiny dwelling he keeps there.

[x-changmin]

x-krystal:

as it was, there was bits and pieces of her life that she would never get back. 

soojung knows this well, comforts herself with the notion that this is how life is. this is how it’s supposed to be. this is her family’s legacy, broken. this is remnants of her youth, shackled. this is a cage. a boot on her windpipe pressing down, relenting just enough for her to breathe. 

however shallow, however pained.

                                                                                                                          this is mercy.

it is with such conviction that she carries on through life. however shamed, however pathetic way of living it was—it was still living. it was still waking up in the morning and seeing her siblings, her mother, the love of her life.  

yes, shim changmin, however broken, however twisted, was here now.

and however much she hated this way of living—cowardly and contemptible as it is—didn’t matter in the slightest with this very fact. if she fought, if she resisted, she wouldn’t even have this. 

mercy.

it is but a foul bitter taste on her tongue. one that she bites through regardless, if only for the fact that the consequences of not complying meant the loss of everything she’s ever cared for. and her soul, her heart, her mind, her body — it can’t take any more blows.

the journey to the lower levels is tedious. almost painstakingly long in the beginning. soojung had not completely understood why he had insisted on getting his own place—but given the fact that she shared her apartment with her brother, it wasn’t as if she was going to demand otherwise.

and who shim changmin is now—she doesn’t know how to help him.

                                                                                                                    she barely knows him.

“changmin?” her voice rings clear over the city’s alarm, head tilted to the slightest degree as she regards the male before her. still. frozen. the slightest tremble to his frame is heart-wrenching. near frightening, had jung soojung ever been the type to use such datives to a man she knows like second skin.

but this wasn’t the man she knew.

this was the shell of a man that threatened to break. and soojung? soojung wasn’t sure if she could keep him together.

mercy.

her fingers slide over his palm easily, squeezing his hand.

“changmin.”

is that what this is?

it had always been difficult to line the pieces up, to complete the mental puzzle of his place in the world—of who he was—for all the frayed and jagged edges. difficult, but not impossible. though lately, his day to day experience had become little more than trying to put together little more than shards with broken fingers.

his lips moved even then, whispering to the shadows insisting he was that traitourous human—that as sure as he felt the licking of flames at his heels, he was bound by blood, sweat and tears to those soldiers walking the streets. he shared their mission.

they wouldn't hurt him, would they?

just how long had he stood out there? tempting fate?

he heard her before anything else; deliberately loud footsteps in the dead silence—yet just as light and airy as he remembered, when she didn't care to mask her presence. too often, it was in their humble apartment that he'd listen to her roam, crawling into the corner of the couch like some overgrown cat.

the memory drew to mind with it a stark sense of unease. his gut churned, eyes flicking wildly along the exterior of the building before falling to meet hers. blankly, he watched the shift of her brows into a soft downward slope—listened to the dull pounding of rain on the asphault. but beneath it all, he could hear each breath, carefully steady. patient.

"soojung?" changmin blinked slowly, tongue slipping over the consonsants of her name with a softly-spoken whisper. the touch of her hand served as an anchor in the barest sense, drawing his attention to their joined fingers, "what are you doing here?"

[x-changmin]

I GUESS I’M TIRED OF TALK OF HOPE I’ve learned that doves and ravens fly the same

But suddenly she’s all I know, an old refrain

                       "the midnight curfew for all mutant residents is now in effect. you are asked to return to your homes and remain there until—” bzzz.“the midnight curfew for all mutant residents is now in effect. officers will detain individuals found to be in violation—” bzzz. bzzzz.

—detainees will be subject to capital punishment under statute 141.04, subpart C of the mutant containment act. but you know that, don’t you, lieutenant nam jaehyun?

we have the right to kill you where you stand.

the television flickered, signal cut—bright blues and oranges; bars of black and white replacing the images of old faces and older memories staring at him from the other side of the dirty window. overhead, the neon ‘electronics shop’ sign gave one last spark before fizzling out, giving way to the cold, weary sort of darkness that fell in such places. what remnants of life the night had held in the hours before were now—perhaps thankfully—silent.

and changmin was left with only his ghosts for company, running shaky fingertips through the cropped hair at his nape. worn boots scruffed the ground, scattering raindrops across the dampening concrete. the rain fell in sheets; long waves across alleyways, in the cracks where the light failed to reach and the bodies littered the ground in drug-driven hazes.

he could've been tempted into that life himself, if it didn't promise to make things so much worse. he was no glutton for giving the voices in his head more leeway to speak—for turning the volume up on old delusions.

bzzz.

you know the punishment for violating curfew, lieutenant nam.

no, that was wrong. changmin. it was changmin. it had been changmin for as long as memory served; as familiar as the scars embedded into his skin in the mornings; as the humble auto-shop he stood beside, well past the time that he should've hidden himself away and waited out the night like everyone else.

so why are you outside, jaehyun?

and yet.

[x-changmin]

∞ 28 — “shiver”

He could swear she’s real more often than not—but the mind is a tricky thing, and his has learned all the best ways to cope with the agony. It shows him glimpses; a familiar figure in the shadows, low-heeled boots on the damp concrete floor and a dark-eyed stare that takes him back to the festivals of Japan in February; filled with nervousness and something he likes to tell himself was love.

It’s equal parts torture and delight; fuel for the escapist in him that imagines he’s beyond the prison walls and free to search for everyone he’d been forced to leave behind.

But chances are there’s no one left.

He could swear sometimes that he hears her voice, in the depths of the rusted aluminum tubs filled to the brim with ice water. His head dips below the surface, and before his ears pop, he hears it—her first words to him, her last, and everything in between; her laughter, her sadness, her derision ring sweet and low—

And then he’s yanked from the waters with thick calloused hands in his hair, tearing at his scalp as a murmured voice plays back promises—we’ll kill you one day, Jaehyun; when you have nothing left to give us—like a broken record. Changmin watches the shadows dance across the wall with glassy, reddened eyes; horned figures trudging to the door until the piercing sound of metal dragging on the concrete marks his solitude.

The shivers last throughout the night, undeterred by the thin, worn blanket tossed across his shoulders or the torn pants hanging from narrow, bony hips. In the silence, he counts the nicks in his shackles and sings raspy tunes under his breath—

When he runs out, he sings Happy Birthday.

And it doesn’t matter that it isn’t February—it’d be colder—or October—it’d be cold still; the melody draws forth another beat to the tired organ in his chest. The pads of his fingers play across chipped, cold concrete while the knot in his throat grows, until each syllable fades into a pause.

The pauses grow until his eyes fall closed, and the shivers make waves up and down his spine.

Before he falls into the illusions of sleep, Changmin listens for the sound of breath—for the shuffling of low-heeled boots, or the whisper of black fabric sliding over soft skin.

There is nothing but his own, jagged and dying away until he’s no longer awake to listen.

[x-changmin]

∞ 29 — “to my youth”

It had been years since the last time he awoke beside a stranger—that stranger had in fact been his wife, before they’d exchanged anything more than dirty looks over half-eaten pastries and edged words—but when morning comes, in the rising of light from beneath the horizon ( the hazy gray-greens of dewy mist ) and through the bedroom window, he knows.

The warm, naked body at his side isn’t the one he’s accustomed to.

—spent the better half of his life worshipping with fingers and lips and thoughts—

Alarm jolts him from the space between dream and reality; to the waking world and the panic that creeps in with it. His eyes flutter open, his fingers twitch at his sides and Shim Changmin takes in his surroundings with all the focus of a battle-hardened soldier ( and it doesn’t matter that he has two beautiful kids and thirty-eight years to his name, that aspect of him never changes ) before he chances a look at his bed companion.

It isn’t his room—

But the softened features of an young woman—no more than eighteen—; dark hair framing a strong, beautiful jaw; darker eyes opening to stare back at him with a strange mixture of amusement and confusion, leave him with no option but to stare.

And that’s what he does, laying in a long-abandoned apartment in a city decimated by battle after battle. A peeking of the bright yellow wall in the living room catches his eye even as soft tones break the silence—he remembers this.

On the mental calendar of days that Shim Changmin wished he could change ( or even just relive ), it was the third; behind the deaths of his parents, and the moment he’d left Miyoung to protect a man who didn’t begin to deserve their loyalty. It was a simple day, where he’d done little more but read an old novel and take out the trash—instead of indulging in his girlfriend ( and her beautifully teenage hormones ), he’d gone to bed—

And war had arrived on their doorstep in the morning.

When her words reach him, accompanied with the play of slender fingers across the curve of his spine, he decides not to question it.

“What do you want to do today?”

She doesn’t expect a response. Some part of him wonders just how much the time has changed him that he supplies one, tucked between faint kisses to her temple, “Let’s just stay in bed.”

His arms slip around her waist, closing the meager distance between them until there’s nothing but warmth and the steady thrumming of a heartbeat against his own—or maybe not so steady. With a smile, Changmin listens to her hum; feels the pressing of lips against his shoulder.

“I thought you were against being too lazy.”

Of course, she has to be wry about it.

But even the tiniest curving of her lips is infectous.

“I never said we’d be resting.”

It was, after all, the last day they’d have together—Jeju would be gone tomorrow, and with it, the little world they’d created where it was possible to waste away the hours reading an old book and taking out the trash.

She deserved to remember something better than that anyways.

[x-changmin]

∞ 22 — “blank spaces”

the first time that he realized it wasn’t such a great idea was as he hauled too many boxes ( bearing his few belongings ) up three flights of stairs. being fit didn’t prepare anyone for the mind-numbling tediousness of moving, and shim changmin was no exception. though, instead of complaining, he deposited his things in the living room with the rest of their collective junk and descended again to rinse and repeat.

the second time, unfortunately, came with a close call. confronted with a mysteriously blank expression when he peered inside the bathroom ( jung soojung never yelped ). the brotherhood member obeyed when all of his survival instincts told him to back away slowly from the woman grasping at the edges of the toilet.

as she pushed herself up, he turned and departed as fast as he’d arrived -- though he could’ve sworn he’d put the lid down just ten minutes before.

the third time, he found himself staring at a canary yellow wall ( it’d come with the apartment, apparently ) while trying to process her declaration without letting his amusement be known, “i don’t think accent walls come in black.” changmin tapped his forearm with his fingers, making a steady rhythm of it before sparing a glance at his girlfriend, curious.

her gaze, on the brightly colored wall behind where their sofa would be, never moved.

“i don’t like this wall.”

the first time he felt certain it was the right thing to do ( after the pounding in his chest, after the contagiousness of her tiny smiles and the thought of her body pressed to his every morning, and every night, without interruption ) came with the slide of her fingertips down his palm, no sooner than he’d locked the door.

their door.

changmin smiled to himself for the thousandth time, feeling her lips pressing against his jaw while warm breath fanned across his skin. it was no feat for her to set his mind on a different path--“you know we’re supposed to christen each room, right?”

and he had no trouble with humoring this whim, leaving their unpacked boxes on the living room floor and the windows curtain-less.

[x-changmin]

∞ 19 — “you could be”

some things were better kept to himself. he’d known it once upon a time; had lived on that very reasoning for the sake of survival where ( and when ) it was common for lives to be placed under a microscope of the entertainment of others. it was how he’d always thought of it, stuffed into a tiny room in an underground base, once upon a time--when all the solutions seemed so straight-forward.

a war could be won by effort, salvation was more than a pipe dream, and a heart could be mended without leaving gaps behind--

empty spaces that he felt more acutely with each passing day. no matter how relieved he felt ( how ecstatic ), the feeling only reached certain spaces; others remained dark, secluded and lonely--filled with all his worst nightmares and all his best dreams.

in some ways, it was more painful to be confronted with the reality of their lives. they were together, trapped birds in a cage with nowhere else to go. he didn’t know how to make jung soojung happy; didn’t know how to be happy himself. maybe he’d never known, or maybe the ability had been ripped from his hands years ago.

maybe he’d never had it.

“i’m sorry.”

standing at the foot of her bed, bearing the marks of a cruel, unforgiving world, he could feel it. the clenching of his chest, while his pulse thundered in his ears; the dull sting of his fingernails digging into his palm, as he stared at the rumpled sheets ( instead of the dark, loving eyes trained on him from the pillows ) and swallowed around knots.

the words had become lost, somewhere along the way.

but he’d be lying if he said she didn’t have a way of peering into him anyways. maybe she knew it was coming; maybe she’d understand, and he could stop--

before he disappointed them both.

“i don’t know if i can do this.” he lingered there, caught speechless by his own declaration. only then did the uncertainty come spilling out; a flood of shaky breaths and backpedaling steps toward the door. cool air at his back ( shirtless, exposed; his feet caught on the loosened legs of his jeans, strung about his hips and riding low, haphazard ) stopped him short.

it wasn’t the fact that he’d been rendered bare by something as simple as showing his skin ( marred and scarred and broken ); it wasn’t her face. not her face--

he couldn’t look at her when he was almost certain he was snapping in two; divided by happiness and fear ( for failure ).

“i don’t know if i can make you happy, soojung.”

but he was too selfish to ever leave.

[x-changmin]

✖ hold you high ,

[x-krystal]

there was little to say — or rather, the former renegade was too frazzled to even think of anything else to say. any word of comfort was loss on the tip of her tongue, overtaken by the whirlwind of emotions surfacing all at once as she struggles for air, fingers pressing into bare skin. 

desperation.

krystal feels it in waves, she’s not close enough–can’t hug him tight enough, can’t be enough comfort to the aching of the man she loves.

what is she to do in a time like this? 

the startlingly disappointing answer is nothing — delicate pads of her fingers smoothing over marred skin as her breath hitches, eyes watering at the onslaught of confessions slipping upon lips she’d sooner like to smother against her own; thick with emotions krystal wasn’t even sure there were words for.

“i know–i missed you too. i love you too.” the words are entirely too tender, entirely too raw, spoken past a lump wedged snug in her throat–it didn’t even sound like her.

the her a lifetime ago would have laughed.

with that, nothing but shared breaths filled the room for a long turmoil laced moment of tranquility. although admittedly, the silence makes it easier to breath, to think, to feel–to maybe regaining whatever stability she had left.

easier said than done.

it’s his voice that breaks the silence, uttered in a way that brought forth a rush of memories of an easier time. when it was just one injured versus the other and no time missed in between. it brought forth a laugh before she knew it. “hi.” the younger murmurs, lips curving a bit against his skin as her lashes flutter, pulling back enough to press them against his, biting back the shiver that comes with it.

“hi.” she repeats between kisses, soft and long, parting only for shallow breaths of air and the single word uttered between relieved laughter as she leans into him further. “hi–shim changmin.” krystal breathes out, warmth lilting her tone as she kisses him again, and again, and again.

there was no need to stop any time soon.

nor did she ever have the intention to.

“sneaky.”

[x-changmin]

his heart could’ve leapt from his chest at the first press of her lips to his. it ached still, sore from years of neglect and misery, but it thrummed all the same, as though waiting for the day when he’d find her again ( and he’d always hoped; at the beginning and end of every thought it seemed, that she was alive and well ).

judging from the small but warm room he’d woken in ( and the fact that she had both arms, both legs and the ability to laugh )—his hopes hadn’t been in vain. the realization fills him with a rare, fleeting sort of joy that is no less potent than a kickstart to the heart; her voice leads him to smile ( faint, but in a way that has his eyes going mismatched ), “hi.”

sneaky.

funny, how a single word had the promise of stopping his descent into hopelessness and all the pain that came with it.

his face feels sticky, warm with fresh tears but just the same, he leans into the kiss; breathes in her air and meets her eyes. “hi,” he murmurs again, and the way it comes out sounds more like the declaration of love that had come before it. “hi—jung soojung.”

and if a simple word of greeting sounds like ‘i love you’—her name on his lips is a vow.

his tattered ring still loops the right finger of the wrong hand, but it can’t matter any less. slipping his hands across the plane of her stomach and up to where her heart thunders beneath her rib cage, changmin sinks into the act of kissing her while reminding himself time and again—

this is her heartbeat.

it was just the same as he’d liked to imagine it to be after an accidental kiss, in a darkened alleyway on the streets of jeju .

“my soojung.” he calls between one kiss and the next. his free hand threads through her hair, combing through soft, dark strands in an unrestrained gesture of affection. “my love.”

and all the things that he’d never had the bravery to say before came spilling out; as though speaking the words would breathe new life into his worn, broken body ( and mind; and heart ).

[x-krystal]

▬ baby don't cry ,

[x-krystal]

maybe it was just too much. 

too much for the renegade, too much for anyone she knew–because if it was one thing she knew ( and prided herself on ), krystal jung was as hard as they came when it comes to renegades. there was no room for softness, no room for tears and guilt and naivety–her parents had made this clear since they were young ( the motto was solidified when she was made an example by her capturers ); the clan, the world, had no use for it. 

her family, especially did not.

and so krystal, in return, could not and would not show such a thing.

till now.

but maybe it’s the loneliness. 

maybe it’s the ever sickening twist of failure in her guts, to know that she failed the ones who raised her, the man who gave her chance after chance–everyone in the clan.

death would have been a punishment far more merciful than this.

humiliation and degrading and utterly distressing all wrapped in one.

she simply did not know how much longer of this she could take.

granted, changmin made it that much easier to bear.

if only for a moment.

maybe that’s why she’s here–accepting all at once the tugs closer to his warmth, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her fingers press into skin, heart lurching with every pained noise that slips past her lips, tears burning hot against her skin. 

changmin, who came running at the news, who offered himself up to be bossed, abused, manipulated–changmin, who has to return to his own life sooner or later.

and she will remain her.

a prisoner of her own mind, haunted by her demons.

alone.

unrelenting was the beating of her heart, of the sobs that slip past, no matter how much she tried to subconsciously muffle, lips pressed against his neck and nails digging into his skin.

just how much longer is she supposed to live like this?

[x-changmin]

he swears he feels something in him break; as though each sob that slips almost soundlessly against his skin is inflicting a wound that widens with each that follows. changmin can’t hold her much tighter—can’t pray ( to something he hardly believes in )—any more fervently than he already is. the silence ( the words of comfort that he can’t offer ) tell a story in itself.

sometime ago, he’d been where she’d been; a place where nothing seemed worth it—every avenue laid before him leading only to more despair.

--and he doesn’t have the first clue of how to escape.

the slice of her nails in his skin doesn’t bother him; not nearly as much as the wet heat of her tears sliding down his neck and pooling somewhere in the dip of his collarbone. the brotherhood member, at a loss, slides his fingers through her hair and turns his head to press barely there kisses to her temple.

an apology—however illogical—lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill against the curve of her ear.

he can’t offer anything else; but he can take responsibility for his part in her pain, in the confusion that had been obvious from the day they’d met.

neither of them knew what to do with each other.

and it didn’t seem as if that fact had ever changed. ( he exhales, the sound eerily silent, and finally murmurs the only thing that comes to mind when everything is said and done; )

“let it out. i won’t tell a soul.”

her secrets are safe with him; the mundane and the emotional—it’s trust that he offers, in a haze of pain that echoes hers all too closely to be anything but crippling empathy. his feelings ( no matter how determined he was in giving them no voice ) were too deeply embedded in his system for his reaction to be anything less than agony. without pretense ( the effort to be quiet ), she was free to express her pain without judgment.

her secrets are safe with him, he thinks.

even if her heart isn’t.

[x-changmin]

✖ whenever, wherever, whatever —

[x-krystal]

{ ` the effect shim changmin has posed on her is one of no other. soojung has dated, naturally, met boys who are capable of freeing the butterflies in the pits of her stomach – but changmin, as she’s come to accept, does the above and beyond. truly, it is hard to describe in words with the erratic skipping of her pulse and the way her body, almost acting without her permission, reacts to his presence. } yes you did. { ` mumbles back, amused by the implication as her lashes fluttering, wholly enjoying the ministrations while her hands slide over bare skin absently, making an amused noise at his question. } if you would, i assume you would have presented it by now. { ` points out, words tinted with the slightest bit of smugness that soon dissolves in favor of unrivaled surprise that rises at the next thing that comes out of his mouth. at most–she had been joking, teasing and never quite expecting the likes of shim changmin to go along with it. in fact, soojung hadn’t been sang to on her birthdays since she outgrew wearing party hats–or birthday parties at all, if she’s honest. still, it’s a nice surprise – heart skipping quite a few beats as she stills in his arms, quietly listening to the timbre of her boyfriend’s voice singing to her. it was honestly both the sweetest and embarrassing thing she’s been on the receiving end of. } – { ` to her credit, however, she keeps quiet until the older is done, lips curving as her fingers dances along his arm, turning her head slightly to look at him, cheeks slightly flushed. } i was sort of joking, but you really do spoil me shim changmin.

[x-changmin]

{ ` she’s caught him—in more ways than one—and he knows it. the words linger on his tongue while he savors each press of her skin against his, intoxicated by the humor in her voice; the very proof that at least some part of jung soojung is happy to be there with him, beyond every single one of their difficulties—his mistakes, the misunderstandings—and for the first time in a long time, he has a breath of happiness that he can cling to for all that he’s worth. it’s dangerous, and he’s caught. but he can’t help but be okay with it. once silence falls and the telltale knot of nervous in his throat lessens, changmin allows himself to breathe, and register the gaze turned on him as the woman in his arms shifts to face him a little better } sort of joking. { ` answers in return, masking his own embarrassment behind an amused chuckle that ends up just a bit too high and edged with a breathiness he immediately regrets showing } it wasn’t a big deal, soojung. { ` it’s almost a lie, though to cover his tracks he leans forward to kiss her lips, and then her cheeks, taking in the warmth of her skin with a minute smile; all too tempted to fall into the trap of laying his affections—how strange it sounded—on her all over again; instead, he grasps her shoulders and coaxes her to face him, slipping long fingers into her hair } it’s only reasonable to sing happy birthday to the birthday girl. { ` his voice lilts on something notably more flirtatious, while dark hues stay trained on hers, teasing in a way that he hadn’t yet felt comfortable doing—if there was something to be said about singing, it certainly broke the ice. }

[x-changmin]

death by numbers.

You look good in leather -- in bars Breaking things, breaking hearts You look good in pleasure -- in hotels Loneliness is the key to break that spell I am terrified

the ringing of the hotel phone pierced the silence. dark lashes fluttered as changmin awoke from a daze--a half sort of sleep that threatened to consume him while he wandered his own thoughts--and took in the gentle light of morning coming through the window. ring. ring. ring. releasing a faint, exasperated breath, the male only barely registered the vague warmth of a body at his side in the warm summer morning; soft skin pressed to his side, and then his back, as he turned to pick up the phone and listen to the receptionist rattle off the time.

"i didn't ask for a wake up call." his voice caught in disuse, he spoke and then promptly slipped the receiver back on the hook--

as though the sound had broken a spell, a rustling in the sheets took his attention back to the young woman. he watched in silence--the enraptured sort--as bright brown eyes opened--as thought she'd been asleep--to stare back at him. though perhaps, he should have known something was wrong as soon as she looked away.

the aversion of her gaze and the shifting of her body went unnoticed.

perhaps, he'd expected their first time together to mean more than what it was. the thought was promptly discarded. naked, warm and drawing his attention in much the way she always had, jung soojung begged his focus--his physical being--to remain on her; whether in violence and passion and that much...

that much he'd accepted.

with open arms, this time. changmin drew closer, tilting his head into the pillow and watching expression subtly shift on her face, "are you okay?"