Status: Closed
This round has closed. It remains open for fills, comments and remixes, but prompts are no longer accepted.
About
"Someone will remember us, I say, even in another time."
"How inconvenient to be made of desire."
"It's me, hi, I'm the problem its me."
Calling all readers, lovers of poetry and music, screen and stage. Quote collecters and lyric hoarders, unleash your archive. For this round, every prompt must contain a quote - you can combine them, add commentary, link to articles, do whatever. Steal from a literary classic, or copy WeVerse drama.
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so scarlet it was
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None
Prompt:
[FILL] the song that says my bones are your bones
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: break ups, ambiguity, title from Ada LimĂłn
Permission to remix: Yes
Happy birthday week friend! A small (yoon)haokook for you!! <3
***
Minghao isn’t ready for the call. It’s past midnight and he’s sprawled under the covers, floating at the sweet precipice of sleep. After the third buzz, he flips the phone screen around. Blue light cuts open the room.
Jungkookie.
Minghao answers.
“Myungho. You’re awake,” Jungkook mumbles. His voice is thick and low. “Sorry. Um. Do you think I could come over?”
“Now?”
Silence, followed by a sniffle. Minghao sits up and rewinds the greeting in his head. The apology. It dawns on him that something is wrong.
“Not if you’re about to sleep,” Jungkook says. “Just—it’s okay—”
“No,” Minghao interrupts. “Now is fine. I don’t have a schedule in the morning. Just text me when you’re here, okay?”
“Alright.” Another sniffle. “Thanks.”
The line goes dead. A pit of trepidation settles in Minghao’s gut. He gets up to put the kettle on.
-
Minghao hasn’t seen Jungkook in person since—God, was it May? Months ago, at least. They’ve texted sporadically. Called once in a blue moon. Between concurrent comebacks and international tours, it’s to be expected. Minghao misses him anyway.
He’s thought about making plans. It takes a certain preparation, though, to be around Jeon Jungkook. He’s got magnetism. His proximity dazzles Minghao in ways he doesn’t like to admit.
It’s dangerous to be friends with Jungkook. It makes you want more.
When Minghao opens the door, Jungkook is hunched in the hallway with his face entirely obscured by a large black bucket hat. A few scraggly curls poke loose. The hem of his jeans are soaked brown with mud.
Horrified, Minghao hisses, “Did you walk here?”
Jungkook looks up. His eyes are a heartbreak: red, swollen, wet.
“Yoongi broke up with me,” he says.
Minghao’s hand falls from the doorknob. “Oh.”
-
Tea can’t fix this, Minghao thinks wildly as he ushers Jungkook into the bedroom. He gets him a change of clothes—a soft flannel that once belonged to Mingyu and oversized sweats—and pours him a mug of chrysanthemum jasmine. They sit side-by-side on top of the covers and work through stilted, delayed greetings and catch-ups. Jungkook’s hands tremble around his mug.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Minghao asks. He doesn’t know how to do this. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not for Jungkook.
Jungkook makes a face, scrunches his nose. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“I think so.”
“Okay.”
Floral steam warms the room. The string lights flicker, drawing Jungkook’s attention. His bottom lip is bitten raw. Minghao reaches out and touches his wrist, gently, to steady him.
“How long have you been together, again?” Minghao asks softly.
“Depends on who you ask.” Jungkook’s breath hitches. “But. Um. Three and a half years?”
Ambiguity is hard to quantify, harder to explain. Jungkook sets the untouched tea on the nightstand. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and suddenly bursts: “He’s just—he’s such an asshole! After everything—he said he couldn’t do it, like it wasn’t worth it anymore. And he really meant it this time.”
Minghao feels useless, unmoored. He doesn’t want to talk shit about Yoongi. He likes Yoongi, despite everything. Respects him.
“He said what?”
“He said that I.” Jungkook ducks his head. “Wasn’t worth it.”
All that respect dies. Yoongi can go fuck himself.
“No,” Minghao says, the word springing emphatically from his chest. “No. That’s bullshit. It’s not fair, and it’s not true—I’m sorry.”
Minghao goes to put his arm around Jungkook. The second he opens himself up, though, Jungkook is lurching forward and collapsing directly into his chest, nearly sending his tea through the wall. Jungkook buries his face into the crook of Minghao’s neck. His arms link around Minghao’s waist and squeeze. The smell of cigarettes and clean rain cling to his hair where it tickles Minghao’s chin.
Oh.
Minghao’s hand drifts down to cup the back of Jungkook’s warm neck. He holds himself very still. Deep, shuddery breaths wrack Jungkook’s shoulders.
“It’s such bullshit,” he mumbles into Minghao’s sweater. Then, quieter: “I hate him.”
You love him, Minghao thinks, and strokes Jungkook’s hair.
They sit for a surreal length of time. It can’t be long, though it feels eternal, because Minghao doesn’t breathe even once until Jungkook lets go. They separate slowly, like a resurfacing. Jungkook’s cheeks are pink and blotchy. He stays close enough that Minghao’s eyes are drawn to his pink mouth, his lip ring catching the light like a crescent moon.
“Thanks for letting me come over,” Jungkook whispers.
“No problem.”
Minghao swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. He wants to ask, Out of all the numbers in your phone, why did you call mine? But he doesn’t really want an answer. This fragile ambiguity, he’ll hold onto.
“Could I…” Jungkook’s tongue darts out to wet his lip. His eyes are dry and hazy with exhaustion. “Sleep here tonight? I promise not to snot all over your pillows.”
Minghao laughs. The atmosphere shifts, brightens, even as they turn out the lights. They crawl under the blankets and divvy up the pillows with ease. Minghao stays firmly on his side of the bed, even when Jungkook’s shirt rides up his hip, revealing a strip of tan, goosebumped skin. Even when Jungkook makes the sweetest sigh, curling into the blankets like a kitten.
Minghao stays still until he gets a look at Jungkook’s nails in the murky blue moonlight. They’re bitten down to the quick. Before he can think better of it, he’s rolling over and taking Jungkook’s hand. He links their fingers together loosely.
“So you don’t fall off the bed this time,” Minghao explains, half-delirious from exhaustion, his heart pounding.
Jungkook doesn’t giggle, but he gets close. His breath skates over Minghao’s face. “Mmmkay.”
It will hurt tomorrow when he leaves. It will hurt more when Yoongi apologizes and Jungkook forgives him and the whole thing repeats, like this night isn’t real, like every time this happens it’s a mirage that only touches Minghao and no one else.
He falls asleep listening to Jungkook breathe. It isn't the first time. He hopes it won't be the last.
Re: [FILL] the song that says my bones are your bones
[REMIX] every song of this country has an unsung third stanza
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: implied Minghao/Jungkook(/Yoongi), idolverse, friends with benefits, unrequited love, implied sexual content
Permission to remix: Please ask!
WC:1153
A/N: SO thankful that i have held onto my annual 17hols haoxing like a wildcard all this time, because i get to play that card here and now :))
***
Seoul sits on Yixing’s shoulders like an ill-fitted suit even more so now that he knows he’s spending the night alone.
He could go out. He could call back the guys he had met officially earlier than day and take them for a drink. He has friends, still, in the city—many of whom would undoubtedly be awake at this hour. He could even stop by a friend’s studio and put his mind to something useful.
Neither music nor alcohol can counter this residual bitterness, that he knows. Not when all he will be able to think about is where he was supposed to be—and who might be taking Yixing’s place.
He didn’t come to Seoul just for that but the business he came for could have taken place without his presence—everybody involved is aware of that.
And yet, despite the sudden change in plans, despite the sleepless night ahead, given the chance again, Yixing knows he’ll be boarding a flight again. Discreetly. Slipping in and out of locked doors for a fleeting touch, again and again.
Unfinished business always takes its toll and return journeys don’t quite hold the promise of a neat and tidy ending but this is a well-worn habit Yixing keeps failing to kick to the curb.
*
When Yixing went back for good that first time, he had promised himself when he returned to Seoul, he would make Incheon light up so bright there would be not mistaking what he had made of himself.
Yixing took the first flight back in merely 20 months since he left.
Nothing awaits him at the airport except an unmarked SUV and the keys to a shared dorm he should not know the location of.
*
Is it love: to want something that is distanced from you close again?
Or is it obsession, to cling onto that which has always tried to part from you—to try and rewrite a story though you started with undisputable knowledge of the ending?
Can it be love at all? When the only language they learn to speak is through their bodies, and even in that to never make room for the bare honesty of taking each other’s given names?
Yixing doesn’t know—and he doesn’t try to find out.
He’s too busy after all.
*
“Xu Minghao.”
“Ah…that’s a pretty name.”
“I—”
Myungho-yah the car is waiting for us!!
“It was nice meeting you, sunbaenim. It—it’s an honour.”
Yixing has just turned 25 and he, 19.
*
Yixing is happy—openly, unflinchingly, generously—for the few months that the hiatus lasts.
[September to December] he’s marked on his personal calender, the only kind of marker he’s at liberty to keep in a relationship where both parties play ghosts.
It’s an autumn of new memories and a winter of small joys stolen between even more shoots and secret flights, from Beijing to Anshan, Anshan to Shanghai, Anshan to Changsha—a map of his heart etched onto the airways with all routes leading to Anshan.
His happiness shows: on the programs he shoots, in the music he writes and in every second that he allows himself to hold on to Minghao longer.
It must be amply transparent to Minghao too, but Yixing can no longer read Minghao like he used to, can’t foray into the territories beyond what he is permitted to touch and see.
*
They get caught on their very first time together—and it should have ended then itself.
Maybe it’s kindness that has Junmyeon keep his silence, maybe it’s pity: for a friend about to embark on a lonely journey with no guaranteed returns.
Junmyeon can’t offer him advice from his position, neither can he claim a sense of understanding, having lived and worked his whole life in the country he belonged to.
Maybe he is grateful, then, to get the opportunity to at least keep Yixing’s secrets.
Yixing finishes his round of concerts in the Philippines and flies home after almost seven years, all thoughts of Xu Minghao pushed to the farther corners of his mind.
It doesn’t last.
*
Yixing builds his empire, Minghao builds himself.
*
The first time Minghao returns to
himChina, Yixing braces himself for things to be different.They’re not—and they are.
Minghao doesn’t push him away when Yixing knocks on his hotel door—he still sighs just as prettily into his pillow when the night ends.
And yet his face—the face of someone Yixing has known intimately for years—is unrecognizable.
Not just in private but at work, too.
Everything from the drop of his long hair on his shoulders to the way he speaks to the trainees is unlike whatever Yixing has known of him.
He’s self-assured and wise beyond his years when talking to his peers, and sharp and incisive when making comments on improvements to be made, and it’s well and good enough except Yixing gets the feeling that it’s all for the sake of someone not even in the room with them.
*
There are traces of jasmine, rose, hibiscus and lavender littered through the apartment but Yixing has always been served the same singular cup of nokcha on every visit before he’s been shown the door.
Minghao’s only ever been exceedingly sweet and polite to him, which is to say, no matter how many times they have stripped each other down to nothing—there are certain lines they have absolutely never crossed.
*
Yixing turns 26, 27, 28—he turns 31. Whenever the call comes, he takes to the skies.
*
Yixing doesn’t spend his time around Minghao moping and waiting on a returned confession, when he hasn’t made one in the first place. Too much sacrifice has gone into reaching this point—and what he feels for Minghao, unnameable as it shall remain, is not enough to override every dream his younger self has fought for.
A hot pack slipped into Minghao’s trembling hands, a coat thrown over his knees with a shrug while the rest of the crew on the broadcast coo at him—that’s about as much he can do; he is made of greater discipline after all.
But Minghao makes it waver like no one else ever has. Makes him wanna plead and beg stay with me, or let me have all of you or please don’t keep me waiting forever and even more things: unmentionable.
He doesn’t though.
He has spied traces of the ash on Minghao’s balcony, smelled the smoke on Minghao’s pillow one too many times to not know.
Minghao is not a smoker and Yixing has always taken great care to avoid doing the same in his company after all.
He can beg and plead—it doesn’t make him any smaller to do so—and he can ask Minghao for closure to this relentless agony that has a hold on him…but how can he, when the signs of whatever Minghao is going through are only too familiar for Yixing to recognise?
*
little 8
Need to take a raincheck for tonight, I’m so sorry, ge~
12:19 am âś“âś“
Re: [REMIX] every song of this country has an unsung third stanza
[REMIX] love is a violence
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: idolverse, unhealthy relationships, implied sexual content
Permission to remix: No.
wc: 2.5k
***
Remix of a remix again, one that is already mine? Apparently more likely than you think.
Posted here cause it's longer than my usual stuff: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47937079
Re: [REMIX] love is a violence
Re: [REMIX] love is a violence