ice cream (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bluedreaming) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
writetomyheart2016-05-30 04:46 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2016-05-30 04:46 pm
Entry tags:
[team four] headlights
I'm really sorry I somehow lost track of days and I probably should have skipped but here it is. Part four of my accidental rvxwinner au.
The title is from Tiffany's I just wanna dance.
. . ."Grief is the price we pay for love". Sooyoung repeats the words, the way they run through her head. They feel like a foreign skin, like putting on a dress when she wants to wear slacks, like slapping a smile on her face when she wants to frown.
Seunghoon had texted her in class, from his own class, or what she'd thought was his own class until she'd slid the no-longer-vibrating phone from her pocket and seen the message on the screen. The words of the professor hanging in the air, swirls of sound as her thumb had hovered, hesitating to slide it open and mark it read.
What are you supposed to say? she thinks again, when everything sounds like platitudes. She and Seunghoon, they're not like that. Bad shows queued up on Netflix, sloppy kisses and Mariokart on the Wii she nicked from her little sisters; laughing and jokes, that's them. Sure, they can buckle down when it comes to it, her physics homework spread across the table, Seunghoon swimming in peer-reviewed papers, glasses perched on his nose and fingers clacking on keys as he works on his thesis. But there's always that glimmer in his eyes, the threat of salt instead of sugar in the neat little row of canisters they have from his mom.
Now the only salt she's thinking about is the tears she could hear in his voice when she'd slid out of class to call, because what's missing the last few minutes of a lecture when your boyfriend texts you that his older sister and her husband have just been in a car crash, critical condition. Her mind's already skipping ahead, inappropriate words from high school physics mixing in with the words running through her head: velocity and what happens when a car at x speed collides with a car x speed?
"Where are you?" she asks, and there's choked pause before he answers, voice crumpled.
"Waiting room," he answers, adding "surgery" a moment later. It makes sense. It doesn't make sense. Sooyoung tells him she'll be there.
The radio in the cab is on, the voice humming along in the background as she stares at her hands, lying in her lap, until a phrase catches her attention. “So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” She's not sure what the program is even about, what the person is talking about, but the words keep running over and over in her head as she pays the cab driver, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she climbs the steps.
There's an ambulance wailing behind her as the glass doors slide open, and she wonders who else is grieving today.
She's surprised to see Seunghoon alone in the small alcove of seats the nurse had directed her to, expecting to see his parents at the very least, perhaps his brother-in-law's parents as well. Vague recollections of a holiday, travel arrangements and cruise ships swim into focus; Sooyoung blinks. Swallows, stepping quietly across the white linoleum to sink into the chair next to him.
Seunghoon's eyes are dry, when he looks up at her, but there's a papery redness to them. His hand trembles slightly, tucked into hers, and it's cold.
"I'm sorry," she says, even though the words don't seem to mean anything right now, sinking like stones. "Is there any news?" Over the darkness of his hair she can see the sign, no phone usage in the hospital please. Her phone hangs heavy in her pocket.
He sighs into the fabric of her shirt, resting his face on her shoulder for a moment. "Still waiting," he finally says. His fingers curl more tightly around hers, and she finds herself leaning over to press her lips to the top of his head.
"They'll be okay," she says, squeezing back, even though they both know that she can't guarantee it. That's not what the words are for.
It's quiet in the room. Sooyoung feels a nervous energy in the tips of her fingers, the twitch of her leg that she tries to hide. She wants to do something, even if there's nothing she can do. "Do you want something to drink?" she finally asks, and is relieved when Seunghoon nods.
The coffee machine in the hallway has a sign on it, out of order, and she ends up queuing up in the food court area for Starbucks, since hospitals apparently don't have cafeterias anymore, but have turned into mall-like food courts with attached hotels. The image scratches at her somehow, the blatant commercialism of it, the way people in green hospital robes are tapping debit cards to pay for overpriced sandwiches, nurses chatting around standing tables as they drink frappuccinos from green straws. When she gets to the counter, she hands over her gold card, and the phone in her pocket buzzes to tell her she's just gotten twelve stars for her purchase.
Nothing has changed in the small room when she returns, Seunghoon still sitting alone on the teal-padded chair, somehow smaller in his grey sweater and black jeans than she's used to him being.
"I got you a latte," she says, placing it in his hands and noticing as their fingers brush that his are still too cold. Hopefully the warm drink will help remedy that. He nods, thanks, and there's the faintest flickering of his mouth, not really a smile but it's something. Sooyoung feels a little less useless, wrapping her arm around his shoulder.
"Did you. . .do you need me to phone anyone?" she asks after a while, when he's gotten some sugar down and feels a little warmer. I should have asked earlier, she thinks, but can't really regret it. His hand isn't trembling anymore, even though they're still waiting.
He shakes his head. "I left messages," he says, voice quiet, and Sooyoung winces at the thought of having to leave a message like that for her mom.
Crap. Her eyes dart to the sign again, and Seunghoon catches her looking. They'd been planning on going over to her parent's place for dinner; it's completely slipped her mind.
"Just be quick," he says, and she doesn't properly hear the sound until she's fumbling the phone from her pocket, scrambling the letters in her haste and having to backspace and fix the message before sending it to her mom, with a warning that she's not supposed to be using her phone and will be in contact later.
Seunghoon is laughing at her, and the sound is sweet, even if it's a little frayed around the edges. And when the nurse rounds the corner, a tired smile on his face, Seunghoon's fingers squeeze into her arm as he takes a deep breath, the tears finally beading in the corners of his eyes.
"See?" she whispers. "Told you they'd be okay." There's a lump in her throat now too, like they're finally allowed to break down when the danger has passed. Seunghoon just buries his face in her hair, laughter that fades into something wetter, sharper, and they sit there, together. Holding on.
tagging![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
airplanewishes
The title is from Tiffany's I just wanna dance.
. . ."Grief is the price we pay for love". Sooyoung repeats the words, the way they run through her head. They feel like a foreign skin, like putting on a dress when she wants to wear slacks, like slapping a smile on her face when she wants to frown.
Seunghoon had texted her in class, from his own class, or what she'd thought was his own class until she'd slid the no-longer-vibrating phone from her pocket and seen the message on the screen. The words of the professor hanging in the air, swirls of sound as her thumb had hovered, hesitating to slide it open and mark it read.
What are you supposed to say? she thinks again, when everything sounds like platitudes. She and Seunghoon, they're not like that. Bad shows queued up on Netflix, sloppy kisses and Mariokart on the Wii she nicked from her little sisters; laughing and jokes, that's them. Sure, they can buckle down when it comes to it, her physics homework spread across the table, Seunghoon swimming in peer-reviewed papers, glasses perched on his nose and fingers clacking on keys as he works on his thesis. But there's always that glimmer in his eyes, the threat of salt instead of sugar in the neat little row of canisters they have from his mom.
Now the only salt she's thinking about is the tears she could hear in his voice when she'd slid out of class to call, because what's missing the last few minutes of a lecture when your boyfriend texts you that his older sister and her husband have just been in a car crash, critical condition. Her mind's already skipping ahead, inappropriate words from high school physics mixing in with the words running through her head: velocity and what happens when a car at x speed collides with a car x speed?
"Where are you?" she asks, and there's choked pause before he answers, voice crumpled.
"Waiting room," he answers, adding "surgery" a moment later. It makes sense. It doesn't make sense. Sooyoung tells him she'll be there.
The radio in the cab is on, the voice humming along in the background as she stares at her hands, lying in her lap, until a phrase catches her attention. “So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” She's not sure what the program is even about, what the person is talking about, but the words keep running over and over in her head as she pays the cab driver, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she climbs the steps.
There's an ambulance wailing behind her as the glass doors slide open, and she wonders who else is grieving today.
She's surprised to see Seunghoon alone in the small alcove of seats the nurse had directed her to, expecting to see his parents at the very least, perhaps his brother-in-law's parents as well. Vague recollections of a holiday, travel arrangements and cruise ships swim into focus; Sooyoung blinks. Swallows, stepping quietly across the white linoleum to sink into the chair next to him.
Seunghoon's eyes are dry, when he looks up at her, but there's a papery redness to them. His hand trembles slightly, tucked into hers, and it's cold.
"I'm sorry," she says, even though the words don't seem to mean anything right now, sinking like stones. "Is there any news?" Over the darkness of his hair she can see the sign, no phone usage in the hospital please. Her phone hangs heavy in her pocket.
He sighs into the fabric of her shirt, resting his face on her shoulder for a moment. "Still waiting," he finally says. His fingers curl more tightly around hers, and she finds herself leaning over to press her lips to the top of his head.
"They'll be okay," she says, squeezing back, even though they both know that she can't guarantee it. That's not what the words are for.
It's quiet in the room. Sooyoung feels a nervous energy in the tips of her fingers, the twitch of her leg that she tries to hide. She wants to do something, even if there's nothing she can do. "Do you want something to drink?" she finally asks, and is relieved when Seunghoon nods.
The coffee machine in the hallway has a sign on it, out of order, and she ends up queuing up in the food court area for Starbucks, since hospitals apparently don't have cafeterias anymore, but have turned into mall-like food courts with attached hotels. The image scratches at her somehow, the blatant commercialism of it, the way people in green hospital robes are tapping debit cards to pay for overpriced sandwiches, nurses chatting around standing tables as they drink frappuccinos from green straws. When she gets to the counter, she hands over her gold card, and the phone in her pocket buzzes to tell her she's just gotten twelve stars for her purchase.
Nothing has changed in the small room when she returns, Seunghoon still sitting alone on the teal-padded chair, somehow smaller in his grey sweater and black jeans than she's used to him being.
"I got you a latte," she says, placing it in his hands and noticing as their fingers brush that his are still too cold. Hopefully the warm drink will help remedy that. He nods, thanks, and there's the faintest flickering of his mouth, not really a smile but it's something. Sooyoung feels a little less useless, wrapping her arm around his shoulder.
"Did you. . .do you need me to phone anyone?" she asks after a while, when he's gotten some sugar down and feels a little warmer. I should have asked earlier, she thinks, but can't really regret it. His hand isn't trembling anymore, even though they're still waiting.
He shakes his head. "I left messages," he says, voice quiet, and Sooyoung winces at the thought of having to leave a message like that for her mom.
Crap. Her eyes dart to the sign again, and Seunghoon catches her looking. They'd been planning on going over to her parent's place for dinner; it's completely slipped her mind.
"Just be quick," he says, and she doesn't properly hear the sound until she's fumbling the phone from her pocket, scrambling the letters in her haste and having to backspace and fix the message before sending it to her mom, with a warning that she's not supposed to be using her phone and will be in contact later.
Seunghoon is laughing at her, and the sound is sweet, even if it's a little frayed around the edges. And when the nurse rounds the corner, a tired smile on his face, Seunghoon's fingers squeeze into her arm as he takes a deep breath, the tears finally beading in the corners of his eyes.
"See?" she whispers. "Told you they'd be okay." There's a lump in her throat now too, like they're finally allowed to break down when the danger has passed. Seunghoon just buries his face in her hair, laughter that fades into something wetter, sharper, and they sit there, together. Holding on.
tagging
airplanewishes