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writetomyheart2015-10-13 11:36 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-10-13 11:36 pm
Entry tags:
[team sonic] two sparks
First words from sage words from a nameless passerby.
Title from Siberia by Lights.
Names are such strange animals. Seungyoun sits on the wall, kicking his heels against the brick; some sand dislodges each time, tiny pebbles jarred loose by the beat of his feet and trickling down, his mark on the universe, right here, right now.
There's something deeply satisfying about it.
"Seungyoun!" he hears, his name on the wind, air trickling past his face, stirring his hair. What makes a name a name?
"Seungyoun," he mouths to himself, lips shaping the words, and they feel strange on his tongue, like a chaos of noise that's somehow supposed to define who he is. He can't picture it though, can't fit his arms and legs curled up into the bundle of letters, even when he tries there's still an elbow or ankle or knee sticking out and it grates.
"Seungyoun!" His mother's voice sounds rushed, impatient; Seungyoun sighs. He's probably late for school or something insignificant like that. He kicks the wall a particularly vicious kick with his heel, somehow managing to knock an entire brick loose from the wall; the clatter as it hits the concrete sounds so. . .permanent, somehow. He slides quietly off the wall in the aftermath, slipping into the long grass of the meadow bordering the road before the land slopes down to the orchard, and his mother's voice is lost in the swishing grass, soft whispers of the green blades and the way they brush against his legs and outstretched hands.
"Seungyoun!" There's a voice up ahead, a different voice altogether, and Seungyoun looks up from the grass to see Wenhan waving from where he's perched in the crook of a tree, feet dangling off the ground.
"Wenhan?" Seungyoun asks the wind, but it doesn't know either, merely plucking at the fabric of his jacket with impatient fingers, urging him along.
"Are you hiding from your mom?" Wenhan asks, laughing, and Seungyoun nods.
"Seungyoun. . ." Wenhan says, shaking his head even as he slides down out of the tree to give Seungyoun a leg up, and Seungyoun realizes, suddenly, that he does like his name, a lot even. It just depends on who's saying it; the same word that doesn't fit all his corners and edges in his mother's mouth is the perfect fit when it comes out of Wenhan's mouth.
Seungyoung smiles, as he perches in the tree, and reaches down an arm to pull Wenhan back up.
Title from Siberia by Lights.
Names are such strange animals. Seungyoun sits on the wall, kicking his heels against the brick; some sand dislodges each time, tiny pebbles jarred loose by the beat of his feet and trickling down, his mark on the universe, right here, right now.
There's something deeply satisfying about it.
"Seungyoun!" he hears, his name on the wind, air trickling past his face, stirring his hair. What makes a name a name?
"Seungyoun," he mouths to himself, lips shaping the words, and they feel strange on his tongue, like a chaos of noise that's somehow supposed to define who he is. He can't picture it though, can't fit his arms and legs curled up into the bundle of letters, even when he tries there's still an elbow or ankle or knee sticking out and it grates.
"Seungyoun!" His mother's voice sounds rushed, impatient; Seungyoun sighs. He's probably late for school or something insignificant like that. He kicks the wall a particularly vicious kick with his heel, somehow managing to knock an entire brick loose from the wall; the clatter as it hits the concrete sounds so. . .permanent, somehow. He slides quietly off the wall in the aftermath, slipping into the long grass of the meadow bordering the road before the land slopes down to the orchard, and his mother's voice is lost in the swishing grass, soft whispers of the green blades and the way they brush against his legs and outstretched hands.
"Seungyoun!" There's a voice up ahead, a different voice altogether, and Seungyoun looks up from the grass to see Wenhan waving from where he's perched in the crook of a tree, feet dangling off the ground.
"Wenhan?" Seungyoun asks the wind, but it doesn't know either, merely plucking at the fabric of his jacket with impatient fingers, urging him along.
"Are you hiding from your mom?" Wenhan asks, laughing, and Seungyoun nods.
"Seungyoun. . ." Wenhan says, shaking his head even as he slides down out of the tree to give Seungyoun a leg up, and Seungyoun realizes, suddenly, that he does like his name, a lot even. It just depends on who's saying it; the same word that doesn't fit all his corners and edges in his mother's mouth is the perfect fit when it comes out of Wenhan's mouth.
Seungyoung smiles, as he perches in the tree, and reaches down an arm to pull Wenhan back up.