different.
Apr. 20th, 2013 05:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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caressingflamesdifferent. [Hunhan, Kray, Baekyeol, Kaisoo; g; au]
1530w.
dif·fer·ent [dif-er-uhnt, dif-ruhnt]
adjective
1. not alike in character or quality; differing; dissimilar: The two are different.
There are some things Luhan remembers vividly, and some things that blur into the background. He wouldn’t be able to recall how hot the coffee he had this morning was, or how cold his shower was either. But he would be able to recount almost perfectly how soft calloused fingers felt against the skin of his cheek, how many beats his heart skipped at the mention of his name off that tongue, even now, months after all those things stopped coming to him. (Even now, when he doesn’t particularly want to remember.)
Wufan has been hurt in the past. His experience has led to the spawn of an increasingly permanent distrust of men as a whole, even in himself. He has vowed, time and time again, that he wouldn’t be so foolish as to allow his heart to fall prey to that crazy little thing called love - and yet here he was, phone clutched in one shaking hand, fingers of the other lost in his hair. His screen displays the number of one Yixing, and a long, quaking thumb hovers over it, a mere inch away from making that call. It was difficult for Wufan to admit, at first - but now he’s sure, that he actually kind of maybe likes Yixing as more than just a friend. He’s different, Wufan thinks, and smiles to himself as his thumb touches the screen and the dial tone echoes in his ear.
Luhan thinks there are some things in this world that are worth the extra time and effort to appreciate. He likes the particular shade of yellow bananas turn when they’re just right, and the way the sky looks at 5:56PM on a summer evening. He likes the sounds the keyboard makes when he’s typing about something he feels particularly strongly about, even likes the soft tightening of his heart when he remembers exactly what it is he’s usually talking about when those sounds are made. And he stops and remembers just how much he likes shallow scars almost invisible at first glance high up on too-pale cheekbones. (And he stops to remember that he liked how perfect the imperfection felt under his fingertips.)
Whispers of how broken Baekhyun had been this past week reached Chanyeol’s ears and went - unpleasantly - straight to his heart. He knew that what he’d done was unforgivable, even to someone with a tolerance level as high as Baekhyun’s. And Chanyeol knows he’s treading thin ice turning up unannounced on Baekhyun’s doorstep with only words he’s doubtful Baekhyun would even listen to as an apology. But when the door swings open and Baekhyun is greeted with despondent eyes underlined by bags he swears weren’t there a week ago - Baekhyun knows that this time, this time Chanyeol’s apology is different. So he decides to invite Chanyeol in - hand hesitating for half a moment before lacing its fingers with Chanyeol’s longer ones, and tugging him gently inside.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Luhan thinks, which is why he expends so much of his time and energy trying to find the beauty behind the smallest things, the most insignificant of things. And right now he’s busy appreciating the quiet beauty in the way the bubbles in his champagne swirl to the top when it’s being poured out, looking all the more beguiling because of the soft lighting in the art gallery. He’s leaning up against the wall in a corner at Minseok’s opening night for his new collection and he feels a little guilty, really because his drink interests him more than the canvases his friend spent hours slaving over. So he lowers his glass and begins to look for art for him to admire, but instead - and Luhan wonders if it’s possible that his heart stopped for a split second - he sees him. (Not that this him wasn’t a work of art in himself, of course.)
They’ve been together for far too long, Jongin thinks, and yet the time he’s spent with Kyungsoo doesn’t feel anywhere near long enough. Moments blend subtly into hours and Jongin finds himself sitting straight up in bed, Kyungsoo curled at his side, an epiphany bursting forth in his mind. He leans down to push hair away from the older’s forehead, fingers raking through hair and thumb gently laid against smooth skin. The corners of his lips turn up and he presses them against Kyungsoo’s forehead, causing sleepy eyes to flutter open. Jongin grins at how puffy Kyungsoo’s eyes look, and coos inwardly when Kyungsoo reaches up to rub at them. Kyungsoo smiles up at Jongin and pulls him in for a good morning kiss, and they’re both encompassed in their own little world of each other, and love. Jongin feels Kyungsoo pull away only to give him a shy smile, one that’s different from all the others he’s ever gotten, and the former decides it’s time for a trip to the jeweler’s and to start praying for Kyungsoo’s yes.
Breathing, Luhan thinks, is fascinating. He’s done Biology before, he knows how many muscles have to contract and relax at the same time just so he can keep a steady supply of air to his lungs. Sometimes he even wonders how babies learn to do it - thinks it nothing short of a miracle that everyone just knows how to breathe. But now, when he finally sees Sehun after months and months of the latter’s absence - it’s as if his system has forgotten how to do something it’s been doing for close to 23 years. His entire being freezes up when Sehun turns and spots him, and shatters when he notes the darker fingers in the spaces between Sehun’s pale ones.
Sehun smiles that smile Luhan misses and lets go of the stranger’s hand, only to gently push past art critics and make his way toward the latter. Luhan tries his hand at a smile but knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. If Sehun notices, he doesn’t say anything. ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ Sehun smiles, his lisp tempting Luhan to reach out and pull him into a hug. ‘Minseok asked me,’ Luhan says, voice a little softer than normal because Sehun’s here, in front of him - and Sehun hasn’t been there in a while. They exchange the normal niceties - how have you been, is work treating you well, do you get enough time off, things two people who used to mean the world to each other ask after having stepped out of each others’ lives entirely. Luhan has to fake smiles and laughs and prays inwardly that Sehun doesn’t have an intuitive insight into his sleepless nights and meals left untouched, because it’s kind of humiliating to think that Luhan’s been pining for Sehun all this time whilst the latter seems to be more than fine.
They stand in a comfortable silence for a while before Luhan summons up every fibre of courage in his being to ask - ‘So who’s that guy you were with?’ and immediately regrets asking the moment the words roll off his tongue. ‘Oh, him?’ Sehun says, a tiny smile imperceptible to people who didn’t know him well enough (which, Luhan likes to think, he still does) appearing on his lips, before he gestures at said boy who has his back turned and introduces him as Zitao. Zitao and Sehun have been together, he says, for a good half year, and Luhan struggles to come to terms with this new information. Sehun speaks lovingly about Zitao, just as he’s done Luhan before. Luhan’s smile grows tighter and tighter until he’s convinced his lips will split right down the middle, until Sehun stops.
‘So… So being with him… He makes you happy?’ Luhan asks, mentally slapping himself in the face as the words escaped him. ‘Yeah. He’s - being with him, it’s just… It’s different, you know?’ Sehun says, turning to face Luhan. ‘He’s different,’ Sehun finishes, eyes back on Zitao. Zitao, coincidentally, turns to look for Sehun at exactly the same moment and beckons the latter over. Sehun bids Luhan a quiet goodbye, wishes him well, and tells him to take care of himself.
As Sehun walks away, he doesn’t notice how Luhan’s eyes have suddenly turned a little glassy, how the champagne glass shakes in his trembling hand. Luhan leans against the wall for support, placing his glass down somewhere he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to. He watches from afar as Zitao leans down to whisper something into Sehun’s ears, and his heart twists when Sehun places a quick peck on Zitao’s cheek. The smiles they share earn adoring looks from on lookers, but an envious one from Luhan himself.
Loving Sehun when they were together was a cool breeze in an Indian summer for Luhan, but loving him still, loving him now - even when Sehun doesn’t belong to him anymore - it’s so different, so suffocating that Luhan feels himself drowning out of water.
He hurts, he knows, and yet - there was a small part of him, a strong part that never wanted that pain to go away.
The part that was still intrinsically Oh Sehun’s.
1530w.
dif·fer·ent [dif-er-uhnt, dif-ruhnt]
adjective
1. not alike in character or quality; differing; dissimilar: The two are different.
There are some things Luhan remembers vividly, and some things that blur into the background. He wouldn’t be able to recall how hot the coffee he had this morning was, or how cold his shower was either. But he would be able to recount almost perfectly how soft calloused fingers felt against the skin of his cheek, how many beats his heart skipped at the mention of his name off that tongue, even now, months after all those things stopped coming to him. (Even now, when he doesn’t particularly want to remember.)
Wufan has been hurt in the past. His experience has led to the spawn of an increasingly permanent distrust of men as a whole, even in himself. He has vowed, time and time again, that he wouldn’t be so foolish as to allow his heart to fall prey to that crazy little thing called love - and yet here he was, phone clutched in one shaking hand, fingers of the other lost in his hair. His screen displays the number of one Yixing, and a long, quaking thumb hovers over it, a mere inch away from making that call. It was difficult for Wufan to admit, at first - but now he’s sure, that he actually kind of maybe likes Yixing as more than just a friend. He’s different, Wufan thinks, and smiles to himself as his thumb touches the screen and the dial tone echoes in his ear.
Luhan thinks there are some things in this world that are worth the extra time and effort to appreciate. He likes the particular shade of yellow bananas turn when they’re just right, and the way the sky looks at 5:56PM on a summer evening. He likes the sounds the keyboard makes when he’s typing about something he feels particularly strongly about, even likes the soft tightening of his heart when he remembers exactly what it is he’s usually talking about when those sounds are made. And he stops and remembers just how much he likes shallow scars almost invisible at first glance high up on too-pale cheekbones. (And he stops to remember that he liked how perfect the imperfection felt under his fingertips.)
Whispers of how broken Baekhyun had been this past week reached Chanyeol’s ears and went - unpleasantly - straight to his heart. He knew that what he’d done was unforgivable, even to someone with a tolerance level as high as Baekhyun’s. And Chanyeol knows he’s treading thin ice turning up unannounced on Baekhyun’s doorstep with only words he’s doubtful Baekhyun would even listen to as an apology. But when the door swings open and Baekhyun is greeted with despondent eyes underlined by bags he swears weren’t there a week ago - Baekhyun knows that this time, this time Chanyeol’s apology is different. So he decides to invite Chanyeol in - hand hesitating for half a moment before lacing its fingers with Chanyeol’s longer ones, and tugging him gently inside.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Luhan thinks, which is why he expends so much of his time and energy trying to find the beauty behind the smallest things, the most insignificant of things. And right now he’s busy appreciating the quiet beauty in the way the bubbles in his champagne swirl to the top when it’s being poured out, looking all the more beguiling because of the soft lighting in the art gallery. He’s leaning up against the wall in a corner at Minseok’s opening night for his new collection and he feels a little guilty, really because his drink interests him more than the canvases his friend spent hours slaving over. So he lowers his glass and begins to look for art for him to admire, but instead - and Luhan wonders if it’s possible that his heart stopped for a split second - he sees him. (Not that this him wasn’t a work of art in himself, of course.)
They’ve been together for far too long, Jongin thinks, and yet the time he’s spent with Kyungsoo doesn’t feel anywhere near long enough. Moments blend subtly into hours and Jongin finds himself sitting straight up in bed, Kyungsoo curled at his side, an epiphany bursting forth in his mind. He leans down to push hair away from the older’s forehead, fingers raking through hair and thumb gently laid against smooth skin. The corners of his lips turn up and he presses them against Kyungsoo’s forehead, causing sleepy eyes to flutter open. Jongin grins at how puffy Kyungsoo’s eyes look, and coos inwardly when Kyungsoo reaches up to rub at them. Kyungsoo smiles up at Jongin and pulls him in for a good morning kiss, and they’re both encompassed in their own little world of each other, and love. Jongin feels Kyungsoo pull away only to give him a shy smile, one that’s different from all the others he’s ever gotten, and the former decides it’s time for a trip to the jeweler’s and to start praying for Kyungsoo’s yes.
Breathing, Luhan thinks, is fascinating. He’s done Biology before, he knows how many muscles have to contract and relax at the same time just so he can keep a steady supply of air to his lungs. Sometimes he even wonders how babies learn to do it - thinks it nothing short of a miracle that everyone just knows how to breathe. But now, when he finally sees Sehun after months and months of the latter’s absence - it’s as if his system has forgotten how to do something it’s been doing for close to 23 years. His entire being freezes up when Sehun turns and spots him, and shatters when he notes the darker fingers in the spaces between Sehun’s pale ones.
Sehun smiles that smile Luhan misses and lets go of the stranger’s hand, only to gently push past art critics and make his way toward the latter. Luhan tries his hand at a smile but knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. If Sehun notices, he doesn’t say anything. ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ Sehun smiles, his lisp tempting Luhan to reach out and pull him into a hug. ‘Minseok asked me,’ Luhan says, voice a little softer than normal because Sehun’s here, in front of him - and Sehun hasn’t been there in a while. They exchange the normal niceties - how have you been, is work treating you well, do you get enough time off, things two people who used to mean the world to each other ask after having stepped out of each others’ lives entirely. Luhan has to fake smiles and laughs and prays inwardly that Sehun doesn’t have an intuitive insight into his sleepless nights and meals left untouched, because it’s kind of humiliating to think that Luhan’s been pining for Sehun all this time whilst the latter seems to be more than fine.
They stand in a comfortable silence for a while before Luhan summons up every fibre of courage in his being to ask - ‘So who’s that guy you were with?’ and immediately regrets asking the moment the words roll off his tongue. ‘Oh, him?’ Sehun says, a tiny smile imperceptible to people who didn’t know him well enough (which, Luhan likes to think, he still does) appearing on his lips, before he gestures at said boy who has his back turned and introduces him as Zitao. Zitao and Sehun have been together, he says, for a good half year, and Luhan struggles to come to terms with this new information. Sehun speaks lovingly about Zitao, just as he’s done Luhan before. Luhan’s smile grows tighter and tighter until he’s convinced his lips will split right down the middle, until Sehun stops.
‘So… So being with him… He makes you happy?’ Luhan asks, mentally slapping himself in the face as the words escaped him. ‘Yeah. He’s - being with him, it’s just… It’s different, you know?’ Sehun says, turning to face Luhan. ‘He’s different,’ Sehun finishes, eyes back on Zitao. Zitao, coincidentally, turns to look for Sehun at exactly the same moment and beckons the latter over. Sehun bids Luhan a quiet goodbye, wishes him well, and tells him to take care of himself.
As Sehun walks away, he doesn’t notice how Luhan’s eyes have suddenly turned a little glassy, how the champagne glass shakes in his trembling hand. Luhan leans against the wall for support, placing his glass down somewhere he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to. He watches from afar as Zitao leans down to whisper something into Sehun’s ears, and his heart twists when Sehun places a quick peck on Zitao’s cheek. The smiles they share earn adoring looks from on lookers, but an envious one from Luhan himself.
Loving Sehun when they were together was a cool breeze in an Indian summer for Luhan, but loving him still, loving him now - even when Sehun doesn’t belong to him anymore - it’s so different, so suffocating that Luhan feels himself drowning out of water.
He hurts, he knows, and yet - there was a small part of him, a strong part that never wanted that pain to go away.
The part that was still intrinsically Oh Sehun’s.
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Date: 2013-04-20 02:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-04 02:12 pm (UTC)