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)
theblueintheday2015-04-01 09:35 am
bluedreaming) wrote in theblueintheday2015-04-01 09:35 am
Entry tags:
[team sonic] By your side
Starting words from here.
Title from James Bay's Hold Back the River.
I blame this entirelly on the Tao/Kai mirrored intros in the Mandarin and Korean music videos for Call Me Baby, as well as this twitter edit montage (1 2 3 4) and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nachtegael for making me sad about it.
His chest tightens, every time he thinks about it.
Brake lights, red, car coasting down along the cliff.
Redshifting in the dark.
Zitao knows that he's dead, six feet under, sticky earth falling on the dark wood of a coffin in the rain, the clouds crying the tears he can't seem to be able to dislodge from his heart. It hurts too much to cry.
I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Yifan says in his memories, in his history, in the moments he can't erase from echoing over and over in his brain as the hours turn into days turn into weeks.
Zitao can't help stopping there on his way home, engine revving angrily before he switches into reverse and slides into a spot, not caring anymore about things like paint or bumps or scratches. It get cold too quickly, the window from the ocean sweeping over him in the dark, cutting like a knife.
You don't belong here, it seems to say. You belong with him. But Zitao keeps going back night after night, dozing in the dark as he tucks himself into the curve of leather behind the steering wheel. He's like a dog, going back to the grave while he waits for his owner to rise from the dead.
The ocean is greedy; what it swallows in angry fragments of glass and steel and bone it won't return. He just keeps getting washed further and further from shore, his eyes paler as they reflect the watery moon.
Until.
"Hey," a voice says. Zitao blinks, it's dark and there's what looks like a phone light shining in his eyes. The light is so bright it's blinding. "Are you okay?"
Zitao blames it on the weather, the time, the fact that Yifan is dead, for answering honestly. "No."
There's a silence then, not heavy, as he waits for the stranger to leave. But he stays.
"Can I help you?" the voice asks, the indistinct outline of a guy leaning back against the hood of his car.
"Can you bring back the dead?" Zitao doesn't know why he said that, but he doesn't take it back.
The stranger pauses, this is when you leave, but he doesn't. "No," he says. "No one can."
It sounds like he knows too, what it's like to sit in the dark. The headlights reveal a flash of blue at the guy's neck as, without asking permission, he opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat.
"I only know how to wait," he says, and Zitao doesn't even feel angry at him for suddenly encroaching on his personal space, his oasis of grief.
"Could you wait here, with me, for a while?" he finds himself asking instead. The stranger nods his head.
"I'm Kai," he says. Holding up a lollipop, he asks with an inclination of his eyebrow, Do you mind?
Zitao shrugs, the taste of tobacco still heavy on his tongue. Sure, whatever. The sound of the candy wrapper in the car is loud, somehow, and it chases away the dark. Zitao remembers candy and summer and beaches with sand between his toes.
"I'm Tao," he says. Kai nods, the white stick of a lollipop protruding from his mouth. He doesn't look like a child, not at all, but but doesn't look anything like Yifan either and for once Zitao is grateful.
They sit, together, in the dark, and when the sun finally dawns slowly overhead it peers over the windscreen to find two heads dozing, one head resting on the other's shoulder.
Title from James Bay's Hold Back the River.
I blame this entirelly on the Tao/Kai mirrored intros in the Mandarin and Korean music videos for Call Me Baby, as well as this twitter edit montage (1 2 3 4) and
nachtegael for making me sad about it.His chest tightens, every time he thinks about it.
Brake lights, red, car coasting down along the cliff.
Redshifting in the dark.
Zitao knows that he's dead, six feet under, sticky earth falling on the dark wood of a coffin in the rain, the clouds crying the tears he can't seem to be able to dislodge from his heart. It hurts too much to cry.
I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Yifan says in his memories, in his history, in the moments he can't erase from echoing over and over in his brain as the hours turn into days turn into weeks.
Zitao can't help stopping there on his way home, engine revving angrily before he switches into reverse and slides into a spot, not caring anymore about things like paint or bumps or scratches. It get cold too quickly, the window from the ocean sweeping over him in the dark, cutting like a knife.
You don't belong here, it seems to say. You belong with him. But Zitao keeps going back night after night, dozing in the dark as he tucks himself into the curve of leather behind the steering wheel. He's like a dog, going back to the grave while he waits for his owner to rise from the dead.
The ocean is greedy; what it swallows in angry fragments of glass and steel and bone it won't return. He just keeps getting washed further and further from shore, his eyes paler as they reflect the watery moon.
Until.
"Hey," a voice says. Zitao blinks, it's dark and there's what looks like a phone light shining in his eyes. The light is so bright it's blinding. "Are you okay?"
Zitao blames it on the weather, the time, the fact that Yifan is dead, for answering honestly. "No."
There's a silence then, not heavy, as he waits for the stranger to leave. But he stays.
"Can I help you?" the voice asks, the indistinct outline of a guy leaning back against the hood of his car.
"Can you bring back the dead?" Zitao doesn't know why he said that, but he doesn't take it back.
The stranger pauses, this is when you leave, but he doesn't. "No," he says. "No one can."
It sounds like he knows too, what it's like to sit in the dark. The headlights reveal a flash of blue at the guy's neck as, without asking permission, he opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat.
"I only know how to wait," he says, and Zitao doesn't even feel angry at him for suddenly encroaching on his personal space, his oasis of grief.
"Could you wait here, with me, for a while?" he finds himself asking instead. The stranger nods his head.
"I'm Kai," he says. Holding up a lollipop, he asks with an inclination of his eyebrow, Do you mind?
Zitao shrugs, the taste of tobacco still heavy on his tongue. Sure, whatever. The sound of the candy wrapper in the car is loud, somehow, and it chases away the dark. Zitao remembers candy and summer and beaches with sand between his toes.
"I'm Tao," he says. Kai nods, the white stick of a lollipop protruding from his mouth. He doesn't look like a child, not at all, but but doesn't look anything like Yifan either and for once Zitao is grateful.
They sit, together, in the dark, and when the sun finally dawns slowly overhead it peers over the windscreen to find two heads dozing, one head resting on the other's shoulder.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject