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theblueintheday2015-06-07 04:50 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in theblueintheday2015-06-07 04:50 pm
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[team five] aime moi moins, mais aime moi longtemps
So this is mostly based on the Love me Right mv, because this is what I was seeing when I watched it (well the sekai parts anyway, we won't talk yet about my plots for the other sections). The title is from the movie Les chansons d'amour and it's something one of the characters says (at 2:19 note: the movie isn't anything like the trailer at all—it's ten times better and there are no love squares or anything like that.). This story is followed by le ver dans la pomme nous glisse entre les dents.
It's kind of ideal, except for when it's not.
And it's really not.
Right now Jongin is dragging his feet along the cement ground of the old tunnels, the ones with the sides fallen out, abandoned after the war so long ago that no one remembers what it was about, because he's trying not to think about where he really should be. Where he really wants to be, where he really doesn't want to be.
"What are you doing here?" Sehun asks. He's sitting on the cement steps where this stretch of tunnel—not really a tunnel because the east wall is missing and vines of ivy drape themselves around the outer pillars, all that's left of a secret—ends.
"What are you doing here?" Jongin asks, instead of answering another question he can't seem to be able to answer. But Sehun has shadows in his eyes now, and they see through affected nonchalance.
"Stop running away from him," he says, and his words are sharp, even though the echoes of the room muffle their piercing diction, shovels of earth thrown on the pain of a freshly-varnished coffin. "You still have him." He stands up, unfolding himself, long limbs stretched too thin over white bones, and turns his back, fading into the distance.
Jongin turns and walks the other way, retracing angry footsteps and hoping they'll lead him in a different direction.
Everything is so green. It's sharp, the light filtering through green leaves, the rocks digging into his back, before he shifts and pretends, for just a moment. The rain under his knees, the rain under his neck, Sehun imagines it's him, held again in arms so warm, so close.
The ground vibrates, and he imagines, for just a moment, if it was a train. Maybe he's sleeping, and all he needs to do is wake up.
"Wake up!" Someone is shouting. Down the tracks, someone is shouting from the entrance of the old tunnels. Jongin.
Sehun ignores him, closes his eyes.
Something flies over his head, throwing dust in his face as a rock bounces off the track and lands with a crunch on the other white gravel. Bones breaking, in the silence.
"Don't you dare give up!" Jongin is shouting, but it sounds like crying. "Don't you dare tell me to stop running away from my problems when all you're doing is letting go!"
Sehun blinks his eyes open, looks at the sky. It's still blue.
Jongin runs along the lengths of the tunnels, drags his sister's old baseball bat along the ground to see the sparks jump, smashes bottles like problems. There are words painted on the wall.
LOVE ME RIGHT
"I don't know how to love anyone," Jongin tells the silent walls, the waiting floor, the boy who's still sitting in his room. His hands aren't shaking as he paints the words over, muddy red that makes a broken heart if you squint sideways.
"I don't know how to love anyone," he repeats to himself, letting the baseball bat fall with a dull thud and sets off running, trying to outrace the problems that only snap at his heels and overtake him and stuff themselves back down his throat.
Sehun is lying on the tracks again.
Jongin knows it's only a spur line, that the chance of a train coming along them one day is minuscule, but the thought, the tiny possibility sets his teeth on edge.
"Wake up!" he shouts, and doesn't stop screaming until Sehun unfolds himself from the ground, white dust smeared across the back of his shirt, his neck, his legs.
"I'm not running away," Sehun retorts, swinging by Jongin without touching as he joins him in the coolness of the cement walls. His face is dark today, too many silences tucked in the corners, eyes pinched. Jongin doesn't ask, just takes him by the hand and starts running.
They run and run and run and at first it feels good, feet pounding on the cement, the cool air of the tunnels whipping by as wind, their heartbeats fierce in their ears. And then it starts to hurt.
They keep running.
Until they can't anymore; Sehun is doubled over gasping, Jongin is a little better off but sweat beads on his forehead under his hair and he slumps down along the wall.
"What was that for?" Sehun asks, when he can breathe again.
"Running hurts," Jongin says, and swallows.
They sit like that, face to face across the shadowed green recesses of the broken-down tunnel, feet not quite touching.
"Do you remember the messages we wrote in bottles when we were younger?" Jongin asks, tentatively. It's been a long time.
But Sehun's dull eyes light up. "For like grade three?" he asks. "And then we went on a field trip and dumped them in the ocean and—" Something flutters in his eyes and Jongin remembers. He wishes he could kick himself, and he's about to open his mouth to tell Sehun to just forget it, when Sehun opens his mouth.
". . .and he cried when his bottle broke on the cliffs and I told him," he swallows, thickly, and the dull sound echoes, "I told him that meant that his message was going to God." Sehun blinks, and Jongin can feel roughness growing in his own throat, water pooling in the corners of his eyes. His fingers curl inwards, making fists, and across the tunnel he can see that Sehun is doing the same thing.
"I thought," Jongin says quietly, and if his voice catches and breaks he ignores it, "I thoguht maybe we could write messages?" He holds his breath; he doesn't know how Sehun will react. But Sehun merely nods.
I love you.
That's all that Sehun can think of to write down. The pen is heavy in his hand, the ink clotting in lumps and watery ink and he doesn't know how to shape all the things he wants, he needs to say.
He rolls the paper up and slips it into the mouth of one of the empty Coke bottles that lie abandoned in careless piles on the concrete.
I want to stop being afraid.
Jongin looks at the words, blue ink on white, and they feel right. He thinks about Yixing.
"Do you think someone can love you the right way so much that it almost hurts?" he asks, looking over at Sehun who's just tucking his paper into a bottle.
"It hurts but it hurts more if you don't have it anymore," Sehun says. The paper slips through the mouth of the bottle he's holding in his hand and lands on the bottom. No take backs.
"So what should we do with the bottles?" Sehun asks. They're each holding one, small white paper message tucked into the bottom of grubby glass, Jongin feels eight years old again, watching someone cry and not being able to do anything about it.
"We don't have an ocean," Jongin admits, because he doesn't even know what he was thinking. It's not like an ocean was going to appear from thin air.
"What if we break them?" Sehun says. "Like his broke." Jongin understands the meaning tucked into the silences between Sehun's sentences. These messages are for God.
"Okay."
They find Jongin's sister's baseball bat along the tunnel floor. It's almost funny, each setting their bottle carefully on the ground, winding up with the aluminium baseball bat like a strangely thick golf club, breath, breath, breath, and then swing. . .
Sehun's bottle bursts in an explosion of shattering glass, the thin paper tearing to fragments, landing in a mangled heap of white tatters amidst the sparkling glass stars littering the ground. He's breathing fast, and Jongin can see the white of his eyes, so he slings his arm around Sehun's shoulders and pulls him back to look out the broken wall of the tunnel.
They stand for a moment, and breathe, just listening to the silence, before Jongin goes back to tackle his demons.
"Do you want to stay here?" he asks Sehun, who nods, silent, eyes fixed on a small white bird circling the canopy of trees below.
Jongin winds up and strikes. As the bottle is crushed by the baseball bat, shards of secrets flying everywhere, a few fly back and bury themselves in the skin of his ankle, because he isn't wearing socks again. It hurts, just a little, but his chest feels lighter somehow anyway.
"I'm not afraid," Jongin tells the air hanging silent after the crash, the green shadows on the wall, the sparkling wreckage on the ground. "I'm not afraid."
"Do you feel better?" Sehun asks, as Jongin steps up beside him again. Jongin nods, just a little, and Sehun sighs, a long exhalation of breath as he rests his head on Jongin's shoulder, slouching a bit because he's always been a little taller.
"I feel a little better too."
They stand, side by side, and look out over the forest, watching the two small white birds circling over the green.
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lattelotus good luck!
It's kind of ideal, except for when it's not.
And it's really not.
Right now Jongin is dragging his feet along the cement ground of the old tunnels, the ones with the sides fallen out, abandoned after the war so long ago that no one remembers what it was about, because he's trying not to think about where he really should be. Where he really wants to be, where he really doesn't want to be.
"What are you doing here?" Sehun asks. He's sitting on the cement steps where this stretch of tunnel—not really a tunnel because the east wall is missing and vines of ivy drape themselves around the outer pillars, all that's left of a secret—ends.
"Do you love me?" Yixing asks, not with his mouth but with his actions, smile, the curve of his neck on the sheets. "Because I love you anyway."
Jongin can't answer the unspoken question that's already answered itself from a different direction.
"What are you doing here?" Jongin asks, instead of answering another question he can't seem to be able to answer. But Sehun has shadows in his eyes now, and they see through affected nonchalance.
"Stop running away from him," he says, and his words are sharp, even though the echoes of the room muffle their piercing diction, shovels of earth thrown on the pain of a freshly-varnished coffin. "You still have him." He stands up, unfolding himself, long limbs stretched too thin over white bones, and turns his back, fading into the distance.
Jongin turns and walks the other way, retracing angry footsteps and hoping they'll lead him in a different direction.
Everything is so green. It's sharp, the light filtering through green leaves, the rocks digging into his back, before he shifts and pretends, for just a moment. The rain under his knees, the rain under his neck, Sehun imagines it's him, held again in arms so warm, so close.
The ground vibrates, and he imagines, for just a moment, if it was a train. Maybe he's sleeping, and all he needs to do is wake up.
"Wake up!" Someone is shouting. Down the tracks, someone is shouting from the entrance of the old tunnels. Jongin.
Sehun ignores him, closes his eyes.
Something flies over his head, throwing dust in his face as a rock bounces off the track and lands with a crunch on the other white gravel. Bones breaking, in the silence.
"Don't you dare give up!" Jongin is shouting, but it sounds like crying. "Don't you dare tell me to stop running away from my problems when all you're doing is letting go!"
Sehun blinks his eyes open, looks at the sky. It's still blue.
Jongin runs along the lengths of the tunnels, drags his sister's old baseball bat along the ground to see the sparks jump, smashes bottles like problems. There are words painted on the wall.
LOVE ME RIGHT
"I don't know how to love anyone," Jongin tells the silent walls, the waiting floor, the boy who's still sitting in his room. His hands aren't shaking as he paints the words over, muddy red that makes a broken heart if you squint sideways.
"I don't know how to love anyone," he repeats to himself, letting the baseball bat fall with a dull thud and sets off running, trying to outrace the problems that only snap at his heels and overtake him and stuff themselves back down his throat.
Sehun is lying on the tracks again.
Jongin knows it's only a spur line, that the chance of a train coming along them one day is minuscule, but the thought, the tiny possibility sets his teeth on edge.
"Wake up!" he shouts, and doesn't stop screaming until Sehun unfolds himself from the ground, white dust smeared across the back of his shirt, his neck, his legs.
"I'm not running away," Sehun retorts, swinging by Jongin without touching as he joins him in the coolness of the cement walls. His face is dark today, too many silences tucked in the corners, eyes pinched. Jongin doesn't ask, just takes him by the hand and starts running.
They run and run and run and at first it feels good, feet pounding on the cement, the cool air of the tunnels whipping by as wind, their heartbeats fierce in their ears. And then it starts to hurt.
They keep running.
Until they can't anymore; Sehun is doubled over gasping, Jongin is a little better off but sweat beads on his forehead under his hair and he slumps down along the wall.
"What was that for?" Sehun asks, when he can breathe again.
"Running hurts," Jongin says, and swallows.
They sit like that, face to face across the shadowed green recesses of the broken-down tunnel, feet not quite touching.
"Do you remember the messages we wrote in bottles when we were younger?" Jongin asks, tentatively. It's been a long time.
But Sehun's dull eyes light up. "For like grade three?" he asks. "And then we went on a field trip and dumped them in the ocean and—" Something flutters in his eyes and Jongin remembers. He wishes he could kick himself, and he's about to open his mouth to tell Sehun to just forget it, when Sehun opens his mouth.
". . .and he cried when his bottle broke on the cliffs and I told him," he swallows, thickly, and the dull sound echoes, "I told him that meant that his message was going to God." Sehun blinks, and Jongin can feel roughness growing in his own throat, water pooling in the corners of his eyes. His fingers curl inwards, making fists, and across the tunnel he can see that Sehun is doing the same thing.
"I thought," Jongin says quietly, and if his voice catches and breaks he ignores it, "I thoguht maybe we could write messages?" He holds his breath; he doesn't know how Sehun will react. But Sehun merely nods.
I love you.
That's all that Sehun can think of to write down. The pen is heavy in his hand, the ink clotting in lumps and watery ink and he doesn't know how to shape all the things he wants, he needs to say.
He rolls the paper up and slips it into the mouth of one of the empty Coke bottles that lie abandoned in careless piles on the concrete.
I want to stop being afraid.
Jongin looks at the words, blue ink on white, and they feel right. He thinks about Yixing.
"Do you think someone can love you the right way so much that it almost hurts?" he asks, looking over at Sehun who's just tucking his paper into a bottle.
"It hurts but it hurts more if you don't have it anymore," Sehun says. The paper slips through the mouth of the bottle he's holding in his hand and lands on the bottom. No take backs.
"But what if I hurt you?" he asks Yixing. They're sprawled on white sheets, tinted red in the light from the rose glass windows. Yixing says it makes him see the world through 'rose-coloured glasses' but sometimes, when Jongin is feeling dark, he feels like it's red, a bloody tinge of guilt covering everything he does.
"Do you want to hurt me?" Yixing asks. He raises his head slightly to look at Jongin before lowering it again, the warmth sitting in comfortable heaviness on Jongin's shoulder.
"Never," Jongin replies. "That's why I'm scared."
"Don't be scared," Yixing says. "I know you won't." His words buzz gently into the skin of Jongin's neck. He wishes he could believe Yixing, that he could trust himself.
"So what should we do with the bottles?" Sehun asks. They're each holding one, small white paper message tucked into the bottom of grubby glass, Jongin feels eight years old again, watching someone cry and not being able to do anything about it.
"We don't have an ocean," Jongin admits, because he doesn't even know what he was thinking. It's not like an ocean was going to appear from thin air.
"What if we break them?" Sehun says. "Like his broke." Jongin understands the meaning tucked into the silences between Sehun's sentences. These messages are for God.
"Okay."
They find Jongin's sister's baseball bat along the tunnel floor. It's almost funny, each setting their bottle carefully on the ground, winding up with the aluminium baseball bat like a strangely thick golf club, breath, breath, breath, and then swing. . .
Sehun's bottle bursts in an explosion of shattering glass, the thin paper tearing to fragments, landing in a mangled heap of white tatters amidst the sparkling glass stars littering the ground. He's breathing fast, and Jongin can see the white of his eyes, so he slings his arm around Sehun's shoulders and pulls him back to look out the broken wall of the tunnel.
They stand for a moment, and breathe, just listening to the silence, before Jongin goes back to tackle his demons.
"Do you want to stay here?" he asks Sehun, who nods, silent, eyes fixed on a small white bird circling the canopy of trees below.
Jongin winds up and strikes. As the bottle is crushed by the baseball bat, shards of secrets flying everywhere, a few fly back and bury themselves in the skin of his ankle, because he isn't wearing socks again. It hurts, just a little, but his chest feels lighter somehow anyway.
"I'm not afraid," Jongin tells the air hanging silent after the crash, the green shadows on the wall, the sparkling wreckage on the ground. "I'm not afraid."
"Do you feel better?" Sehun asks, as Jongin steps up beside him again. Jongin nods, just a little, and Sehun sighs, a long exhalation of breath as he rests his head on Jongin's shoulder, slouching a bit because he's always been a little taller.
"I feel a little better too."
They stand, side by side, and look out over the forest, watching the two small white birds circling over the green.
tagging
lattelotus good luck!
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