sessho08: (beige)
[personal profile] sessho08
Title: the opposite of two
Fandom: TVXQ
Pairing: Homin
Rating: G
Words: 1019



and then you die. with his hand retracting from where it's been resting on top of yours just a moment ago. with his earnest gaze and his "it's all me," and "we had fun together, didn't we." and you're too proud to protest against the past tense. and you're too stupefied, your own blood roaring in your ears as if trying to drown out his words. "are you alright," he leans into your space again, his fingertips centimetres away from your shoulders and you don't jolt. you tense, so still that you're almost shivering and he notices because he would, because he knows you that well. you're the wise one but he moves back, takes away his offending hand. he knows.

"is that all," you try and it comes out quiet but not broken. your satisfaction is grim.
"listen, i don't want this to end like... like /this," it's his attempt and you sit a little straighter, arrange your lips into your most icy polite inquiring smile. he stutters and it's so unlike him. no further words assault you and the consideration you always loved about him feels like a slap now. it hurts, you hurt, you want to get away and out so you do just that. the chair doesn't screech when you stand up, you don't fumble with your wallet when you fish out a single note and lay it carefully next to the cup with the remnants of your latte. (of course he waited until you've drunk it all.)

"goodbye," you don't say as you gather your clothes and leave the corner table, located perfectly to give the clients a sense of privacy. the illusion's shattered as you turn into the direction of the shop's other patrons, as their conversations start trickling into your ears again. you dress as you're walking, half into your favourite scarf (a gift from him) when you leave the premises. it's cold, the air frosty even though there's been no snow yet this winter. no one yells after you, no one grabs your elbow.

at home, in the actual privacy of your own room, you don't cry. you don't cry, your dry sobs reverberate through the room instead, hands around your knees, quiet hiccups and no wetness on your cheeks.


you get over it. him. it was good. he was great. you didn't work out. fine. you bury your scarf collection at the bottom of one of the containers in your walk-in wardrobe.

you exist. you scrape by, on unwanted memories that feel too fresh and too beautiful and too real. they're not, not anymore and the thought doesn't keep you up at night. it wakes you up, an hour earlier than you would rouse normally before you got to know him, before his healthy habit rubbed off on you.

it was good, you were good. "he's still single," your friend tells you and you believe him and don't feel like a fool for it. (friend's got a tell and you'd know if he was lying.) he didn't cheat on you, he didn't end it after a horrid quarrel where you just couldn't reconcile opinions about the things you've held most dear in your heart, in your mind. he was wonderful, as wonderful as another flawed human being could be and you were happy together. you're not together and you're not happy anymore. you don't understand. you despise the fact that you can't hate him. he's done nothing wrong. he just didn't want you as much as you wanted him anymore.

it's slow. "time heals," they say, and it's bullshit, like all of these well-meaning cliches are but you repeat it to yourself every day anyway. you grind your teeth against the words and go on, go on, go on.
it gets easier. just a tiny bit and you finally cry and you dig several of your scarves out because you do love the feel of them against your neck. you bury your face in them against the strong, fresh wind that's carrying traces of spring in it.


and then you live. a wide strip of soft blue cashmere slides from your shoulders where you threw it on haphazardly, carelessly. a hand, catching it before it fully sprawls on the ground is the first of him that you see. "you were about to drop it," is followed by the warmest of smiles and you thank him profusely. it's expensive and you really like it and all that mud. the scarf is still hanging in the space between you two, you realise and you finally release it from his hold.

he beams at you, even brighter, and you want more. it hasn't happened in a while, not with this sort of intensity and it's probably it that prompts you to take a risk. he agrees and for a moment you stand here, with him, silly smiles and casual conversation before you pick a place to go to. words flow with joyous ease, bounce back and forth and it feels so light-headed. you have a great time and you go back home with an additional number in your phone, typed with lots of giggling on both parts. there's a promise too and it makes you giddy. it also makes you afraid because it reminds you of him but excitement outweights apprehension.

it's new, it's sharp-soft, it's overwhelming at times. you make sure to go slow and he adapts as he attempts to smooth out the edges of his enthusiasm. to be honest, you do the same and maybe it's a bit unfair of you to be this careful and wary when the interest is this mutual but he lets you and you're grateful. you don't thank him with words but you try to persevere through his favourite drama and when you kiss him, it's extra soft; passionate; sensual.

you walk into it with your eyes open and your heart hammering wildly in your ribcage and you give him a chance, you give it to yourself. it's all him and all you and it's too much and not enough and you let yourself love.




Comments and criticism as always much appreciated ♥
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April 2014

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