Ship/Member: Jihoon/Seokmin/Soonyoung Major Tags: references to depression Additional Tags: homecoming, when home is not a place, food as a love language, really stretching this egg metaphor here Permission to remix: Yeah!
***
"When I see the fork pierce through the skin and let out a river of gold on top of steaming rice, suddenly I am overwhelmed with tenderness for all my past selves who woke up with determination each day so I can arrive at that moment, standing barefoot, hip leaning against the counter." -Marginalia on "Aubade by Yanyi", by T. De Los Reyes
The apartment is still there when Jihoon gets back. He's alone despite everything, time slip-stitching the rest of his members into other corners of the country. He dons a bucket hat and anonymity and hops on the subway, duffle bag looped over his shoulder.
The sky is a gray wash, sunlight peeking out between the clouds like slivers of ginger. So unexpectedly bright. He snaps a photo, sends it to Soonyoung and Seokmin.
Seokmin had barely waited a year after Jihoon and Soonyoung to enlist himself, claiming that he wanted to get it over with sooner. And Jihoon hadn't said anything, not when he was counting the days when he'd make it back to the two of them. But he hadn't wanted Seokmin to see him, either, not the hard days, when he wrapped blue starched sheets around his shoulders and prayed for a broken bone, so that he would not have to rise with the sun.
And so he had talked to the two of them over chat, and rarely in person, taking breaks with them and holding onto the memories like golden coins.
Here is the pearl-cautious center of him. The part of him that loves them but still wraps his wounds in silence.
Soonyoung comes back in two months time. Seokmin ten after. Jihoon's anticipation is so bright it hurts to look at.
Jihoon is pretty sure Seungcheol and Jeonghan had stopped by the apartment before he got there: despite being closed for months, there is no dust to be seen. His fridge, when he checks it, is fully stocked. Maybe it was Seokmin who prompted them to stop by, Jeonghan always weak for Seokmin's pleading. Or maybe they had thought of the gesture themselves, laughing as they imagined his expression, marveling at the clean countertops. The absent consideration lances straight through him. Bright bright bright.
He runs a gentle hand over the back of his head as he contemplates lunch, eventually pulling out a carton of eggs and starting rice. He had shaved his hair one more time before he left. Sentiment, lingering. Jihoon's never been the type to let things go quickly. Split him open like an egg and find that golden-yolk center, that love so tender.
He eats his lunch standing up, and it's good. And it's enough. And he's watching the sunlight inch itself over the sill of their window—their window—and he's taking the first real breath he's had in months.
And just like that, his phone chimes with a message returned.
(please forgive any inaccuracies re: how exiting from the military works)
[REMIX] sunny side up
Major Tags: references to depression
Additional Tags: homecoming, when home is not a place, food as a love language, really stretching this egg metaphor here
Permission to remix: Yeah!
***
"When I see the fork pierce through the skin and let out a river of gold on top of steaming rice, suddenly I am overwhelmed with tenderness for all my past selves who woke up with determination each day so I can arrive at that moment, standing barefoot, hip leaning against the counter."
-Marginalia on "Aubade by Yanyi", by T. De Los Reyes
The apartment is still there when Jihoon gets back. He's alone despite everything, time slip-stitching the rest of his members into other corners of the country. He dons a bucket hat and anonymity and hops on the subway, duffle bag looped over his shoulder.
The sky is a gray wash, sunlight peeking out between the clouds like slivers of ginger. So unexpectedly bright. He snaps a photo, sends it to Soonyoung and Seokmin.
Seokmin had barely waited a year after Jihoon and Soonyoung to enlist himself, claiming that he wanted to get it over with sooner. And Jihoon hadn't said anything, not when he was counting the days when he'd make it back to the two of them. But he hadn't wanted Seokmin to see him, either, not the hard days, when he wrapped blue starched sheets around his shoulders and prayed for a broken bone, so that he would not have to rise with the sun.
And so he had talked to the two of them over chat, and rarely in person, taking breaks with them and holding onto the memories like golden coins.
Here is the pearl-cautious center of him. The part of him that loves them but still wraps his wounds in silence.
Soonyoung comes back in two months time. Seokmin ten after. Jihoon's anticipation is so bright it hurts to look at.
Jihoon is pretty sure Seungcheol and Jeonghan had stopped by the apartment before he got there: despite being closed for months, there is no dust to be seen. His fridge, when he checks it, is fully stocked. Maybe it was Seokmin who prompted them to stop by, Jeonghan always weak for Seokmin's pleading. Or maybe they had thought of the gesture themselves, laughing as they imagined his expression, marveling at the clean countertops. The absent consideration lances straight through him. Bright bright bright.
He runs a gentle hand over the back of his head as he contemplates lunch, eventually pulling out a carton of eggs and starting rice. He had shaved his hair one more time before he left. Sentiment, lingering. Jihoon's never been the type to let things go quickly. Split him open like an egg and find that golden-yolk center, that love so tender.
He eats his lunch standing up, and it's good. And it's enough. And he's watching the sunlight inch itself over the sill of their window—their window—and he's taking the first real breath he's had in months.
And just like that, his phone chimes with a message returned.
(please forgive any inaccuracies re: how exiting from the military works)