galaxies unspoken
Aug. 21st, 2013 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
uponinfinityTitle: galaxies unspoken
Pairing: Kai/Kyungsoo
Rating: G
Genre: Fluff
Length: 898 words
Warnings: brief mention of character death. Like super brief. Like if you don’t pay attention you’ll miss it it’s that minor
Summary: Across all expanses of space and time, Jongin will always be drawn to Kyungsoo.
Pairing: Kai/Kyungsoo
Rating: G
Genre: Fluff
Length: 898 words
Warnings: brief mention of character death. Like super brief. Like if you don’t pay attention you’ll miss it it’s that minor
Summary: Across all expanses of space and time, Jongin will always be drawn to Kyungsoo.
The fabric of time and space is made of material spanning aeons, past, present and future. Its threads are different ages, different timezones, places ranging from millions of miles apart to mere centimetres. Within this fragile textile exists a multitude of universes, expanding and evolving with every second that passes, every minute that ticks by.
But what, essentially, is a minute?
What is time, and what is its relevance when it comes to multiple universes existing all at once? Is a minute here the same as a minute the next universe over? Will a second bounce off the timeline of one universe, only to be relived in another? Is time relative, does it ever expire, does it renew itself, is it constantly being recreated - does anyone, really, actually know?
Maybe no one does.
In one universe, Jongin finds himself perpetually by Kyungsoo’s side, his body always craving the warmth of a smaller one. He finds himself only properly falling into a deep sleep at the sound of Kyungsoo’s voice, at the sound of honey and melted chocolate being dripped into his ears. Kyungsoo’s fingers sprinkle the sands of sleep into his eyes, and Jongin only dreams of kisses under night sky, of stolen touches behind the office block.
Two universes over there exists a Jongin who lives on the opposite side of the earth, one who doesn’t understand a word of Korean but who falls head over heels for a voice singing his parents’ native tongue. This Jongin spends nights staying awake, collecting lost sleep under his eyes all for the sake of catching an hour or a half of the voice that haunts his dreams, the eyes that never leave the recesses of his mind. Jongin is a college student who is nowhere near broke, his job pays him well enough, his parents his tuition. Yet he barely spends anything, all his wages going into the ledger he titles the ‘Meet Do Kyungsoo fund’.
In another universe Jongin has scratches on his knees and Power Rangers plasters all over them, and his favourite thing is Saturday morning cartoons and that last hour before dinner. This is when he cocks his head out of his bedroom window and looks down at his neighbour playing football by himself in the garden. This is when he appears as an angel haloed by evening sky and sunset hues to large, innocent eyes below him. This is when Kyungsoo hollers up at Jongin to come down, and Jongin ignores the stabs in his knees because playing soccer with the boy next door is the highlight of all his days.
A dystopic universe on the very edges of being sees Jongin as a dancer in a meadow far away from the smell of blood and death. War erupts all around him except for in this haven of green, where flowers spring abundant and colourful, where the air is fragrant and fresh and innocent and clean. Jongin dances and slides across the grass of his meadow, none the wiser that Kyungsoo’s body grows colder underneath his feet with every twirl and flourish.
Countless universes are in existence, all of them travelling along parallel timelines. Each universe has its own Jongin, and each of the Jongins is inexplicably drawn to their own Kyungsoos. Each Jongin is different and yet the same, just tanned skin over flesh and bone, just a heart beating criminally fast at the mention of the name Kyungsoo. Maybe some Jongins find their Kyungsoos, maybe others are destined to be without their better half, to be left with a gaping hole in their chest and no means with which to fill it.
And maybe scientists can explain this away, maybe sterile white lab coats and endless years of research will work to dispel this ‘silly, nonsensical notion’ - but this is not science.
This is fate.
Ah, but I digress.
Because our story today is not about the Jongins and the Kyungsoos beyond our reach. All these universes exist in a kind of solitary harmony, and you’re only supposed to know the stories that happen in your own universe. You are only supposed to believe there is one universe, and only one of each person to ever come into existence.
Our story is one about the Jongin and Kyungsoo of our universe: of the singer and the dancer, attacked relentlessly day after day by cameras and blinding lights and eyes that never sleep. Our story is about a man who feigns confidence to hide sheer insecurity, of a dancer who exudes sex from every pore, but only for the masses.
Our story is about two hearts beating the same longing rhythm, two pairs of eyes that glisten with the truth of all their emotions, separated by thin, tinted glass. Our story is the version where Jongin wants Kyungsoo and Kyungsoo wants Jongin, but neither have the confidence to ever say it out with words.
So this story is not ours, not really. It belongs to Jongin and Kyungsoo. The kisses, the touches, the looks they exchange when they think no one’s looking - they’re all things they’re too scared to say to each other, wordless interactions because actions speak louder than words. This is the story of Jongin and Kyungsoo, and how hopelessly, endlessly, silently in love they are with each other.
This is a story that is to be continued.
Author's note: I think I have a fascination for loves so strong they don't have to be spoken.
(Which is ironic, because all I do is write)
But what, essentially, is a minute?
What is time, and what is its relevance when it comes to multiple universes existing all at once? Is a minute here the same as a minute the next universe over? Will a second bounce off the timeline of one universe, only to be relived in another? Is time relative, does it ever expire, does it renew itself, is it constantly being recreated - does anyone, really, actually know?
Maybe no one does.
In one universe, Jongin finds himself perpetually by Kyungsoo’s side, his body always craving the warmth of a smaller one. He finds himself only properly falling into a deep sleep at the sound of Kyungsoo’s voice, at the sound of honey and melted chocolate being dripped into his ears. Kyungsoo’s fingers sprinkle the sands of sleep into his eyes, and Jongin only dreams of kisses under night sky, of stolen touches behind the office block.
Two universes over there exists a Jongin who lives on the opposite side of the earth, one who doesn’t understand a word of Korean but who falls head over heels for a voice singing his parents’ native tongue. This Jongin spends nights staying awake, collecting lost sleep under his eyes all for the sake of catching an hour or a half of the voice that haunts his dreams, the eyes that never leave the recesses of his mind. Jongin is a college student who is nowhere near broke, his job pays him well enough, his parents his tuition. Yet he barely spends anything, all his wages going into the ledger he titles the ‘Meet Do Kyungsoo fund’.
In another universe Jongin has scratches on his knees and Power Rangers plasters all over them, and his favourite thing is Saturday morning cartoons and that last hour before dinner. This is when he cocks his head out of his bedroom window and looks down at his neighbour playing football by himself in the garden. This is when he appears as an angel haloed by evening sky and sunset hues to large, innocent eyes below him. This is when Kyungsoo hollers up at Jongin to come down, and Jongin ignores the stabs in his knees because playing soccer with the boy next door is the highlight of all his days.
A dystopic universe on the very edges of being sees Jongin as a dancer in a meadow far away from the smell of blood and death. War erupts all around him except for in this haven of green, where flowers spring abundant and colourful, where the air is fragrant and fresh and innocent and clean. Jongin dances and slides across the grass of his meadow, none the wiser that Kyungsoo’s body grows colder underneath his feet with every twirl and flourish.
Countless universes are in existence, all of them travelling along parallel timelines. Each universe has its own Jongin, and each of the Jongins is inexplicably drawn to their own Kyungsoos. Each Jongin is different and yet the same, just tanned skin over flesh and bone, just a heart beating criminally fast at the mention of the name Kyungsoo. Maybe some Jongins find their Kyungsoos, maybe others are destined to be without their better half, to be left with a gaping hole in their chest and no means with which to fill it.
And maybe scientists can explain this away, maybe sterile white lab coats and endless years of research will work to dispel this ‘silly, nonsensical notion’ - but this is not science.
This is fate.
Ah, but I digress.
Because our story today is not about the Jongins and the Kyungsoos beyond our reach. All these universes exist in a kind of solitary harmony, and you’re only supposed to know the stories that happen in your own universe. You are only supposed to believe there is one universe, and only one of each person to ever come into existence.
Our story is one about the Jongin and Kyungsoo of our universe: of the singer and the dancer, attacked relentlessly day after day by cameras and blinding lights and eyes that never sleep. Our story is about a man who feigns confidence to hide sheer insecurity, of a dancer who exudes sex from every pore, but only for the masses.
Our story is about two hearts beating the same longing rhythm, two pairs of eyes that glisten with the truth of all their emotions, separated by thin, tinted glass. Our story is the version where Jongin wants Kyungsoo and Kyungsoo wants Jongin, but neither have the confidence to ever say it out with words.
So this story is not ours, not really. It belongs to Jongin and Kyungsoo. The kisses, the touches, the looks they exchange when they think no one’s looking - they’re all things they’re too scared to say to each other, wordless interactions because actions speak louder than words. This is the story of Jongin and Kyungsoo, and how hopelessly, endlessly, silently in love they are with each other.
This is a story that is to be continued.
Author's note: I think I have a fascination for loves so strong they don't have to be spoken.
(Which is ironic, because all I do is write)
