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writetomyheart2015-10-13 11:58 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-10-13 11:58 pm
[team sonic] on the far side
First words from comfort in hand.
Title from Siberia by Lights.
Hoseok is still here, was still with them, in the photograph that Taehyung holds between his fingers. He wonders if, somewhere in a parallel universe, there's a Jung Hoseok holding a photograph of him, with a different pattern of wet spots soaking into the matte finish, salt running into his mouth.
Hoseok always was an ugly crier, Taehyung thinks to himself, even as his fingers tremble and the photograph floats to the ground. It's a lie. Everything is lie. Somewhere, tucked in some wrinkle of time, there's a Hoseok with tears dripping down his face and Taehyung's arms ache to wrap around him and tell him that it will all get better.
It doesn't get better; it only gets worse, but some lies are sweet on the tongue as they slip down through the bitterness.Taehyung swallows past the lump in his throat, angrily smears a fist over his eyes.
"He's dead," he tells himself harshly, his voice echoing strangely over the water, and Taehyung can't help remembering how water carries better over water than land. Maybe there's a Hoseok, sitting at the edge of this lake, just a thin wall away, a shimmer in the air, and maybe that Hoseok is listening for a voice he won't ever hear again.
Taehyung listens, leaning out over the water, but all he hears are the waves. He's gone, the waves say. He's gone and he won't be back. A low breeze from the water trickles over his feet in their flimsy sandals, lifts up the edge of the photograph and snatches it out over the water before Taehyung has a chance to save it; he leans out, fingers desperately reaching but the wind is too strong, too determined to take this last little bit of Hoseok away from him.
"Fine," Taehyung says. "Take everything from me, while you're at it." The tips of his feet, toes bare, peek out under the railing, the water frothing on the rocks below. The metal is cold under his fingers.
Title from Siberia by Lights.
Hoseok is still here, was still with them, in the photograph that Taehyung holds between his fingers. He wonders if, somewhere in a parallel universe, there's a Jung Hoseok holding a photograph of him, with a different pattern of wet spots soaking into the matte finish, salt running into his mouth.
Hoseok always was an ugly crier, Taehyung thinks to himself, even as his fingers tremble and the photograph floats to the ground. It's a lie. Everything is lie. Somewhere, tucked in some wrinkle of time, there's a Hoseok with tears dripping down his face and Taehyung's arms ache to wrap around him and tell him that it will all get better.
It doesn't get better; it only gets worse, but some lies are sweet on the tongue as they slip down through the bitterness.Taehyung swallows past the lump in his throat, angrily smears a fist over his eyes.
"He's dead," he tells himself harshly, his voice echoing strangely over the water, and Taehyung can't help remembering how water carries better over water than land. Maybe there's a Hoseok, sitting at the edge of this lake, just a thin wall away, a shimmer in the air, and maybe that Hoseok is listening for a voice he won't ever hear again.
Taehyung listens, leaning out over the water, but all he hears are the waves. He's gone, the waves say. He's gone and he won't be back. A low breeze from the water trickles over his feet in their flimsy sandals, lifts up the edge of the photograph and snatches it out over the water before Taehyung has a chance to save it; he leans out, fingers desperately reaching but the wind is too strong, too determined to take this last little bit of Hoseok away from him.
"Fine," Taehyung says. "Take everything from me, while you're at it." The tips of his feet, toes bare, peek out under the railing, the water frothing on the rocks below. The metal is cold under his fingers.