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theblueintheday2015-04-27 10:29 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in theblueintheday2015-04-27 10:29 pm
Entry tags:
[team sonic] sang
Starting words from here.
This is part three of the Chevaline AU. (predeced by La petit mort and followed by Le tapis rouge)
. . .and then he was screaming but there was no one to save him.
The pages flip to the scarlet end papers; another conclusion, glorious in its unexplained finality. Sometimes the reader prefers to imagine the ending for themselves.
Another Sunday morning at mass; the pews are hard and the stone under his feet is cold. Someone, probably Soojung, is whispering to Sehun four rows back about choirboys. Jongin ignores them, focuses on the front of the sanctuary, where the crucifix shines fully in the late morning sunlight trickling through stained glass. The priest is going on and on about Genesis from behind the pulpit and Jongin lets the words sweep over him and fall like acid rain on the wood of the seat behind. Jongdae is here, somewhere; he remembers seeing him walk in, a thick brown-covered book under one arm.
And The Lord said, What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood is crying to Me from the ground.
The words are good ones, shaping a thought he's had lingering at the edges of his mind for days. Jongin runs his fingers over the wood grain of the seat, worn smooth from so many fingers for so many years, their innocence unequal. He smiles at the priest, and doesn't notice when the man skips a word and scrambles to find his place in the homily. The priest ends the service a whole ten minutes early, sweat beading on his brow which his wipes away with the back of a sleeve, dipping his fingers in holy water and imagining the skin burning.
Later, walking home from mass, Jongin stops at the edge of a field, breeze waving through the poppies growing along the road because it's spring, and listens. There's a rapturous expression in his face.
"Did you receive a visitation from heaven?" Kyungsoo's voice, dry as usual, drifts around the edge of the stone wall as he comes into view. Jongin just shakes his head.
"No," he says, "I was just listening to the memory of something beautiful."
This is part three of the Chevaline AU. (predeced by La petit mort and followed by Le tapis rouge)
. . .and then he was screaming but there was no one to save him.
The pages flip to the scarlet end papers; another conclusion, glorious in its unexplained finality. Sometimes the reader prefers to imagine the ending for themselves.
Another Sunday morning at mass; the pews are hard and the stone under his feet is cold. Someone, probably Soojung, is whispering to Sehun four rows back about choirboys. Jongin ignores them, focuses on the front of the sanctuary, where the crucifix shines fully in the late morning sunlight trickling through stained glass. The priest is going on and on about Genesis from behind the pulpit and Jongin lets the words sweep over him and fall like acid rain on the wood of the seat behind. Jongdae is here, somewhere; he remembers seeing him walk in, a thick brown-covered book under one arm.
And The Lord said, What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood is crying to Me from the ground.
The words are good ones, shaping a thought he's had lingering at the edges of his mind for days. Jongin runs his fingers over the wood grain of the seat, worn smooth from so many fingers for so many years, their innocence unequal. He smiles at the priest, and doesn't notice when the man skips a word and scrambles to find his place in the homily. The priest ends the service a whole ten minutes early, sweat beading on his brow which his wipes away with the back of a sleeve, dipping his fingers in holy water and imagining the skin burning.
Later, walking home from mass, Jongin stops at the edge of a field, breeze waving through the poppies growing along the road because it's spring, and listens. There's a rapturous expression in his face.
"Did you receive a visitation from heaven?" Kyungsoo's voice, dry as usual, drifts around the edge of the stone wall as he comes into view. Jongin just shakes his head.
"No," he says, "I was just listening to the memory of something beautiful."