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writetomyheart2015-10-25 01:46 am
drainbamage954.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2015-10-25 01:46 am
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[team sonic] stay
inspired because of this and chatting with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
onyu (i'm sorry, I was just too tempted ;;) Music inspiration from Troye Sivan's Talk Me Down.
Last words from Triple Crown
The day that Yoongi woke up alone and wishing he wasn't was never supposed to happen.
It was a system, a plan set in place when Namjoon and Hoseok started dragging him out in their somewhat pitiful efforts to kill two birds with one stone. They get laid, and he spends time with them, exhibiting his ability to socialize like 'normal people' do.
It had never really been Yoongi's thing, to go out to this intense social scene, where everyone's judgment is impaired and waterlogged between glass tumblers and slices of citrus. On stage, behind the music, or watching it all from a distance had been his world, his comfort zone.
Yet it had been on a night where he'd been stuck playing 'wingman' for Namjoon as Hoseok got distracted by boys that giggled at his jokes that it had changed.
Yoongi didn't meet people at these places, especially people that Namjoon was trying to hit on before he realized his target (this is the kind of shit Yoongi is talking about) wasn't interested in him so much as his wingman.
Yoongi doesn't meet people at these places. It's been ages since he let anyone meet him either, but there was something different, something that caught him, perhaps the bait of water only despite the almost mandate for drink. Or perhaps it was the soft laughter, the smiles, and the bad jokes and embarrassed hand coming to cover a nervous mouth.
Perhaps it was that Yoongi wasn't expecting it, and that's when everything that isn't supposed to happen often does.
Yoongi doesn't meet people at places like the clubs Namjoon and Hoseok get into, and he certainly doesn't bring them home. Nobody gets back to Yoongi's apartment except himself (and maybe Namjoon or Hoseok to make sure he's not dead sometimes). Exceptions though, once they break through one barrier, apparently find a way to slip past the others, water under the door and bleeding into Yoongi's sense of judgement with soft smiles and warm looks and even warmer hands.
It's been a long time. A long time since Yoongi found himself letting down his walls, since he let someone in like this, since someone was able to breeze past his defenses like they didn't exist, pushing too close and the rush that accompanied the brush of skin wasn't coupled with a lingering sense of anxiety.
It's been a long time, probably too long, but Yoongi goes to sleep in warmth, breathing in another scent of another person buried against him, feeling content and without regret as he slips to dreams.
The problem isn't that Yoongi broke his own rules for a night that he probably needed (at least Hoseok will say he needed it, that everyone needs to get laid at some point). The problem isn't with who he was with, a name burned into his mind even if it had only been said a few times before it faded into conversation. The problem is that somehow, in all of the rushed ease of the night before, Yoongi forgot that these things never end well.
The problem is that Yoongi forgot that he doesn't bring people back because he doesn't like having them there, knowing he'll either have to kick them out the next day or he'll wake up like this.
Most of the time, it's just a lingering feeling of being used, another person's outlet.
This time, it's more, where Yoongi opens his eyes to the cascading sunlight and realizes he'd wanted to wake up to that soft smile and gentle voice, lazy blinks and warm skin under his touch. Instead, he wakes up to the memory and suddenly feeling like his bed is too big for only himself to lie on it.
There's nothing, not even a trace of another person in the apartment, even the trash taken out and Yoongi's clothes folded on the couch (who even does that?). It's like a ghost came through, whispering into Yoongi's mind and tracing over his skin, leaving him haunted as he lies in bed and tries to push the thoughts away.
The name that had whispered into him over and over in his own head until it feels burned into him.
There should be nothing.
That's how one night stands work. They're one night.
Yet four days later finds Yoongi stretched out, phone ringing on the table and ignored, head turned to the empty space beside him and wondering what it might be like to see that smile there instead.
Let it go he tells himself but no matter how many times he tells himself to do it, he keeps tripping up and holding on.
"Let it go," Namjoon tells him, misunderstanding, thinking that Yoongi is still mad about being dragged out. They don't know, and it's not going to make Yoongi's life any better if he tells them. The apologetic dinner out isn't so bad, an excuse for Yoongi to get out of the house, out of work, out of his spiraling thoughts and regrets for not asking for more.
Asking for more than one night, asking for something to hold onto even if he knows he probably shouldn't.
"Never," Yoongi tells him, popping a piece of meat into his mouth from the grill and smirking at Namjoon's rolled eyes of exasperation. "Next time, you and Hoseok can play wingman with each other."
"Hoseok sucks at being a wingman," Namjoon almost whines.
"Then wingman for yourself," Yoongi shrugs. "I'm done getting you people you can't convince to go home with you. I have better things to do with my weekend nights."
"Like what?"
"Sleep," Yoongi says bluntly, lips tugging at the look on Namjoon's face.
The problem is that sleep isn't as easy, names burned into his mind and sitting up too late in the night between the bells of the local train passing by while the world sleeps. It's silent now, with lyrics and notes flooding into Yoongi's mind as he writes and writes and writes it all out, pouring onto paper the endless sound that keeps him from sleeping in a cold bed that's too large for only him.
It all cycles back to a name and a smile, the soft touch and Yoongi's reminder that this wasn't supposed to happen. This doesn't happen, and exceptions aren't for him.
They're dangerous.
They leave him sleepless and distracted, running late out of the door to work and into a torrential downpour he's not prepared for. They leave him half soaked, unable to bother with going back for an umbrella, hair sticking to his forehead as he pushes onto a bus and feeling the humidity of too many people crawl up his skin as he reaches for a hand hold with a brief glance to the man beside him.
Exceptions are dangerous because he never knows when they'll happen, or when they'll happen to him again.
Before Yoongi can think about how one night stands are for only one time before the person becomes a memory, he's stuck, staring into eyes too wide, shock playing over fine features as a pretty mouth opens in a soft recognizing inhale.
Then, as if frozen in the thickened air and the jerking sway of the bus, that smile that had refused to leave Yoongi's mind ghosts to Yoongi quietly. "Hi."
"Hi," pulls from him without needing to be asked. There are too many words, too many things to say that he shouldn't.
"Yoongi, right?"
"Yeah," Yoongi answers, surprise numb as it trickles through him. "How are you?"
This is why exceptions shouldn't happen, why Yoongi never brings people back into his life, why he keeps things at a distance, too afraid of how they'll twist him up into something he can't understand but can't ignore. They surprise him, asking for words he doesn't have the time to think over. Conversations like this aren't easy, halting and awkward because they were never supposed to happen in the first place.
But he doesn't look away.
"I'm sorry," isn't the answer Yoongi wasn't expecting. Blinking, the soft colors of embarrassment, of self-conscious sentiment fade into skin. "For-"
"I didn't expect to see you again," Yoongi says, the rush and jumble in his gut not wanting to hear the regret, the wish that he'd never-
"I didn't either," smiles back, the soft warmth of comfort, of listening to words that aren't there, of holding things together wrapping around the small space they occupy. "But I'm glad I did." And even if Yoongi isn't sure he heard right, is blinking trying to clear his mind as the bus shifts and jerks, shoulders bumping together, the soft almost apologetic smile is real. "And I'm sorry."
This time, Yoongi doesn't push away, letting shoulders press too close and taking the brief warmth and weight wash through him like he's been wondering for over the past numerous days. "For what?"
"For not staying," he says with the kind of honesty that's not boasting, but the kind of honesty that's legitimate, something that he has to stay for both of him. To tell Yoongi to be authentic, but also to tell himself the truth that he's struggling to look back on without regret. "I wanted to, but-"
"But that's not usually how things work," Yoongi finishes, and exceptions to rules jump in neon, shattering and loud in warning. He ignores them, pulled in by that smile and the warmth and feeling that won't lessen. "Right?"
"Right."
"So," Yoongi says, a trickle of water dripping down the back of his neck and leading to a soft shiver. "Do you want to try again?"
The lurch of the bus pushes them together just as he laughs, the flush blooming as his head ducks too close, mouth pressing so near to Yoongi's, turning just at the right moment to angle against his ear. "To stay over?"
"But this time," Yoongi says, turning as the bus lurches again, people around them pressing them closer, drowning out the low conversation in the engine and folds of fabric. "You'd just stay."
"For how long?" It's hard to tell if he's teasing, if his humor is like Namjoon's, partially joking but potentially deadly serious. It's easier to be neutral, even if Yoongi's mind and heart scream two different things that both appeal.
"However long it works," Yoongi says, and smiles at the gentle grin he gets in return, as if they're not strangers, but something more. Something deeper than one night and caught coincidence on a morning commute. "However long you want, Seokjin."
"Or until you kick me out," he says, and the glimmer in his eyes as Yoongi says his name is bright, flashing just as it had when he'd enticed Yoongi to repeat it in the club all those sleepless night ago.
"We'll see," Yoongi says, even as he knows he won't. The smile he gets in return leaves him dazed, lighter and losing track of the world amid softly spoken conversation, almost missing his stop as careful fingers reach to push back his dampened hair.
The day that Yoongi woke up alone fades into a memory as the warm sunlight slowly crawls over sensitive skin, barely aware in the gentle morning calm. It's replaced with the calm breaths that ghost over his skin, the warm weight that so reassuring and solid, comforting as it pushes into all the empty gaps he has. It's replaced with the sense of the morning it should have been, with a soft slow smile and lazy fingers tightening around his own, linking together as that gentle voice murmurs a quiet, "hey" to him.
"You're here," is the only things Yoongi can reply with, all the other words too many and too hard to choose from as they swim through him, instead settling into the silence of early morning calm.
A soft laugh, Seokjin's sleep warm face spreading into a lazy contented smile. "Yeah," he agrees, fingers dancing gently in a pattern Yoongi imprints into his memories. "I'm still here."
onyu (i'm sorry, I was just too tempted ;;) Music inspiration from Troye Sivan's Talk Me Down.Last words from Triple Crown
The day that Yoongi woke up alone and wishing he wasn't was never supposed to happen.
It was a system, a plan set in place when Namjoon and Hoseok started dragging him out in their somewhat pitiful efforts to kill two birds with one stone. They get laid, and he spends time with them, exhibiting his ability to socialize like 'normal people' do.
It had never really been Yoongi's thing, to go out to this intense social scene, where everyone's judgment is impaired and waterlogged between glass tumblers and slices of citrus. On stage, behind the music, or watching it all from a distance had been his world, his comfort zone.
Yet it had been on a night where he'd been stuck playing 'wingman' for Namjoon as Hoseok got distracted by boys that giggled at his jokes that it had changed.
Yoongi didn't meet people at these places, especially people that Namjoon was trying to hit on before he realized his target (this is the kind of shit Yoongi is talking about) wasn't interested in him so much as his wingman.
Yoongi doesn't meet people at these places. It's been ages since he let anyone meet him either, but there was something different, something that caught him, perhaps the bait of water only despite the almost mandate for drink. Or perhaps it was the soft laughter, the smiles, and the bad jokes and embarrassed hand coming to cover a nervous mouth.
Perhaps it was that Yoongi wasn't expecting it, and that's when everything that isn't supposed to happen often does.
Yoongi doesn't meet people at places like the clubs Namjoon and Hoseok get into, and he certainly doesn't bring them home. Nobody gets back to Yoongi's apartment except himself (and maybe Namjoon or Hoseok to make sure he's not dead sometimes). Exceptions though, once they break through one barrier, apparently find a way to slip past the others, water under the door and bleeding into Yoongi's sense of judgement with soft smiles and warm looks and even warmer hands.
It's been a long time. A long time since Yoongi found himself letting down his walls, since he let someone in like this, since someone was able to breeze past his defenses like they didn't exist, pushing too close and the rush that accompanied the brush of skin wasn't coupled with a lingering sense of anxiety.
It's been a long time, probably too long, but Yoongi goes to sleep in warmth, breathing in another scent of another person buried against him, feeling content and without regret as he slips to dreams.
The problem isn't that Yoongi broke his own rules for a night that he probably needed (at least Hoseok will say he needed it, that everyone needs to get laid at some point). The problem isn't with who he was with, a name burned into his mind even if it had only been said a few times before it faded into conversation. The problem is that somehow, in all of the rushed ease of the night before, Yoongi forgot that these things never end well.
The problem is that Yoongi forgot that he doesn't bring people back because he doesn't like having them there, knowing he'll either have to kick them out the next day or he'll wake up like this.
Most of the time, it's just a lingering feeling of being used, another person's outlet.
This time, it's more, where Yoongi opens his eyes to the cascading sunlight and realizes he'd wanted to wake up to that soft smile and gentle voice, lazy blinks and warm skin under his touch. Instead, he wakes up to the memory and suddenly feeling like his bed is too big for only himself to lie on it.
There's nothing, not even a trace of another person in the apartment, even the trash taken out and Yoongi's clothes folded on the couch (who even does that?). It's like a ghost came through, whispering into Yoongi's mind and tracing over his skin, leaving him haunted as he lies in bed and tries to push the thoughts away.
The name that had whispered into him over and over in his own head until it feels burned into him.
There should be nothing.
That's how one night stands work. They're one night.
Yet four days later finds Yoongi stretched out, phone ringing on the table and ignored, head turned to the empty space beside him and wondering what it might be like to see that smile there instead.
Let it go he tells himself but no matter how many times he tells himself to do it, he keeps tripping up and holding on.
"Let it go," Namjoon tells him, misunderstanding, thinking that Yoongi is still mad about being dragged out. They don't know, and it's not going to make Yoongi's life any better if he tells them. The apologetic dinner out isn't so bad, an excuse for Yoongi to get out of the house, out of work, out of his spiraling thoughts and regrets for not asking for more.
Asking for more than one night, asking for something to hold onto even if he knows he probably shouldn't.
"Never," Yoongi tells him, popping a piece of meat into his mouth from the grill and smirking at Namjoon's rolled eyes of exasperation. "Next time, you and Hoseok can play wingman with each other."
"Hoseok sucks at being a wingman," Namjoon almost whines.
"Then wingman for yourself," Yoongi shrugs. "I'm done getting you people you can't convince to go home with you. I have better things to do with my weekend nights."
"Like what?"
"Sleep," Yoongi says bluntly, lips tugging at the look on Namjoon's face.
The problem is that sleep isn't as easy, names burned into his mind and sitting up too late in the night between the bells of the local train passing by while the world sleeps. It's silent now, with lyrics and notes flooding into Yoongi's mind as he writes and writes and writes it all out, pouring onto paper the endless sound that keeps him from sleeping in a cold bed that's too large for only him.
It all cycles back to a name and a smile, the soft touch and Yoongi's reminder that this wasn't supposed to happen. This doesn't happen, and exceptions aren't for him.
They're dangerous.
They leave him sleepless and distracted, running late out of the door to work and into a torrential downpour he's not prepared for. They leave him half soaked, unable to bother with going back for an umbrella, hair sticking to his forehead as he pushes onto a bus and feeling the humidity of too many people crawl up his skin as he reaches for a hand hold with a brief glance to the man beside him.
Exceptions are dangerous because he never knows when they'll happen, or when they'll happen to him again.
Before Yoongi can think about how one night stands are for only one time before the person becomes a memory, he's stuck, staring into eyes too wide, shock playing over fine features as a pretty mouth opens in a soft recognizing inhale.
Then, as if frozen in the thickened air and the jerking sway of the bus, that smile that had refused to leave Yoongi's mind ghosts to Yoongi quietly. "Hi."
"Hi," pulls from him without needing to be asked. There are too many words, too many things to say that he shouldn't.
"Yoongi, right?"
"Yeah," Yoongi answers, surprise numb as it trickles through him. "How are you?"
This is why exceptions shouldn't happen, why Yoongi never brings people back into his life, why he keeps things at a distance, too afraid of how they'll twist him up into something he can't understand but can't ignore. They surprise him, asking for words he doesn't have the time to think over. Conversations like this aren't easy, halting and awkward because they were never supposed to happen in the first place.
But he doesn't look away.
"I'm sorry," isn't the answer Yoongi wasn't expecting. Blinking, the soft colors of embarrassment, of self-conscious sentiment fade into skin. "For-"
"I didn't expect to see you again," Yoongi says, the rush and jumble in his gut not wanting to hear the regret, the wish that he'd never-
"I didn't either," smiles back, the soft warmth of comfort, of listening to words that aren't there, of holding things together wrapping around the small space they occupy. "But I'm glad I did." And even if Yoongi isn't sure he heard right, is blinking trying to clear his mind as the bus shifts and jerks, shoulders bumping together, the soft almost apologetic smile is real. "And I'm sorry."
This time, Yoongi doesn't push away, letting shoulders press too close and taking the brief warmth and weight wash through him like he's been wondering for over the past numerous days. "For what?"
"For not staying," he says with the kind of honesty that's not boasting, but the kind of honesty that's legitimate, something that he has to stay for both of him. To tell Yoongi to be authentic, but also to tell himself the truth that he's struggling to look back on without regret. "I wanted to, but-"
"But that's not usually how things work," Yoongi finishes, and exceptions to rules jump in neon, shattering and loud in warning. He ignores them, pulled in by that smile and the warmth and feeling that won't lessen. "Right?"
"Right."
"So," Yoongi says, a trickle of water dripping down the back of his neck and leading to a soft shiver. "Do you want to try again?"
The lurch of the bus pushes them together just as he laughs, the flush blooming as his head ducks too close, mouth pressing so near to Yoongi's, turning just at the right moment to angle against his ear. "To stay over?"
"But this time," Yoongi says, turning as the bus lurches again, people around them pressing them closer, drowning out the low conversation in the engine and folds of fabric. "You'd just stay."
"For how long?" It's hard to tell if he's teasing, if his humor is like Namjoon's, partially joking but potentially deadly serious. It's easier to be neutral, even if Yoongi's mind and heart scream two different things that both appeal.
"However long it works," Yoongi says, and smiles at the gentle grin he gets in return, as if they're not strangers, but something more. Something deeper than one night and caught coincidence on a morning commute. "However long you want, Seokjin."
"Or until you kick me out," he says, and the glimmer in his eyes as Yoongi says his name is bright, flashing just as it had when he'd enticed Yoongi to repeat it in the club all those sleepless night ago.
"We'll see," Yoongi says, even as he knows he won't. The smile he gets in return leaves him dazed, lighter and losing track of the world amid softly spoken conversation, almost missing his stop as careful fingers reach to push back his dampened hair.
The day that Yoongi woke up alone fades into a memory as the warm sunlight slowly crawls over sensitive skin, barely aware in the gentle morning calm. It's replaced with the calm breaths that ghost over his skin, the warm weight that so reassuring and solid, comforting as it pushes into all the empty gaps he has. It's replaced with the sense of the morning it should have been, with a soft slow smile and lazy fingers tightening around his own, linking together as that gentle voice murmurs a quiet, "hey" to him.
"You're here," is the only things Yoongi can reply with, all the other words too many and too hard to choose from as they swim through him, instead settling into the silence of early morning calm.
A soft laugh, Seokjin's sleep warm face spreading into a lazy contented smile. "Yeah," he agrees, fingers dancing gently in a pattern Yoongi imprints into his memories. "I'm still here."
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