Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Seungcheol Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: the rydenification of woncheol Permission to remix: Please ask!
it's not not bastardized ryden that i wrote in under an hour while looping fob songs. be thankful if that means nothing to you.
***
There is a sympathetic lens to every story. What goes around mutates into mythology. That will follow you to the grave despite.
What dies with you alone, however, is the truth.
Seungcheol doesn't think he ever wants to be forgiven.
***
It's like this:
He was 18 when they met, barely that. Full of too much energy and needed to put it somewhere. Wonwoo is younger and starry-eyed, but he's sure of himself. Seungcheol is older and hyperactive and driven by his desire to be loved.
He is five months into writing and working and singing Wonwoo's songs when he knows it. Seungcheol is loved here. Everything after happens quickly.
He's 19 the first time they're given a budget beyond their dreams. Wonwoo puts his heart and soul and sleep schedule on the line with words too biographical woven into tapestries of lyrics Seungcheol's mouth can barely pronounce.
They're on tour with bands Wonwoo had plastered on their tiny practice room walls. Seungcheol is singing the words, "Let's get these teen hearts beating faster," against Wonwoo's mouth damn near every night, and something clicks into place.
Slotted lips, slotted hips—
Freshly 20 years old when he's stepping into view in baggage claim and their arms are around each other.
(Opposite coasts. Matching heartbeats. Put another X on the calendar.)
It's all bliss and romance until Seungcheol puts his fist into the wall and Wonwoo lets the door slam behind him.
If the world is a broken bone, every piece of Seungcheol is fractured.
***
A pop star asks him point blank in a music show dressing room, minutes after showing off a broken clock tattoo etched into the inside of her arm.
(Seungcheol can still feel his breath there. "You need to tell the label that we want to scrap the concept," Wonwoo says. "We're going barebones, not bombastic.")
"We're all too smart to talk to God," she recites with a smile. Gahyeon is terrifying.
"Sunbaenim, if I'm overstepping," she pauses, though everything about her stance suggests she'd push forward were it not for Seungcheol's ramrod posture.
"We wanted different things." Seungcheol wanted to ride it out until the end. Wonwoo wanted integrity, to be true to himself. The same thing in the end, depending on who you speak to.
"Hm," Gahyeon accepts the lukewarm answer, though she puts her number into his phone. "I'd love to get to know you better, sunbae."
Seungcheol crawls out of the corner.
***
He calls it a "side project" but Wonwoo leaves the label and makes a statement. He also takes Hansol with him.
Scabs and vices fill his place.
"I feel like I'm playing pretend up there," is what he tells the label. The beer can in his hand has gone warm, and his in-ears are swinging loose. "None of these songs are mine."
"But one day they will be," they assure him. The crowds come to see Seungcheol breakdown more than they come to Seungcheol sing.
("I know the world's a broken bone, but melt your headaches—oh god. I'm so sorry.")
***
The earth spins and Seungcheol moves a world away, then grows tired and moves back home.
He's at a housewarming of a friend of a friend of a friend when someone steers him into the other room. All of the windows are open, and the summer heat drifts in like a heady cloud.
"You have to meet this guy," they're drunk and laughing, spilling their glass across the new carpet. "He's a little melancholy, but he's just like you."
"Hi," Wonwoo says when Seungcheol steps into view.
(Hey moon, don't you fall down.)
There is something funny about their glasses frames being the same shape, their haircuts nearly the same. What else hasn't changed?
FILL: wonder if your therapist knows everything about me
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: the rydenification of woncheol
Permission to remix: Please ask!
it's not not bastardized ryden that i wrote in under an hour while looping fob songs. be thankful if that means nothing to you.
***
There is a sympathetic lens to every story. What goes around mutates into mythology. That will follow you to the grave despite.
What dies with you alone, however, is the truth.
Seungcheol doesn't think he ever wants to be forgiven.
***
It's like this:
He was 18 when they met, barely that. Full of too much energy and needed to put it somewhere. Wonwoo is younger and starry-eyed, but he's sure of himself. Seungcheol is older and hyperactive and driven by his desire to be loved.
He is five months into writing and working and singing Wonwoo's songs when he knows it. Seungcheol is loved here. Everything after happens quickly.
He's 19 the first time they're given a budget beyond their dreams. Wonwoo puts his heart and soul and sleep schedule on the line with words too biographical woven into tapestries of lyrics Seungcheol's mouth can barely pronounce.
They're on tour with bands Wonwoo had plastered on their tiny practice room walls. Seungcheol is singing the words, "Let's get these teen hearts beating faster," against Wonwoo's mouth damn near every night, and something clicks into place.
Slotted lips, slotted hips—
Freshly 20 years old when he's stepping into view in baggage claim and their arms are around each other.
(Opposite coasts. Matching heartbeats. Put another X on the calendar.)
It's all bliss and romance until Seungcheol puts his fist into the wall and Wonwoo lets the door slam behind him.
If the world is a broken bone, every piece of Seungcheol is fractured.
***
A pop star asks him point blank in a music show dressing room, minutes after showing off a broken clock tattoo etched into the inside of her arm.
(Seungcheol can still feel his breath there. "You need to tell the label that we want to scrap the concept," Wonwoo says. "We're going barebones, not bombastic.")
"We're all too smart to talk to God," she recites with a smile. Gahyeon is terrifying.
"Sunbaenim, if I'm overstepping," she pauses, though everything about her stance suggests she'd push forward were it not for Seungcheol's ramrod posture.
"We wanted different things." Seungcheol wanted to ride it out until the end. Wonwoo wanted integrity, to be true to himself. The same thing in the end, depending on who you speak to.
"Hm," Gahyeon accepts the lukewarm answer, though she puts her number into his phone. "I'd love to get to know you better, sunbae."
Seungcheol crawls out of the corner.
***
He calls it a "side project" but Wonwoo leaves the label and makes a statement. He also takes Hansol with him.
Scabs and vices fill his place.
"I feel like I'm playing pretend up there," is what he tells the label. The beer can in his hand has gone warm, and his in-ears are swinging loose. "None of these songs are mine."
"But one day they will be," they assure him. The crowds come to see Seungcheol breakdown more than they come to Seungcheol sing.
("I know the world's a broken bone, but melt your headaches—oh god. I'm so sorry.")
***
The earth spins and Seungcheol moves a world away, then grows tired and moves back home.
He's at a housewarming of a friend of a friend of a friend when someone steers him into the other room. All of the windows are open, and the summer heat drifts in like a heady cloud.
"You have to meet this guy," they're drunk and laughing, spilling their glass across the new carpet. "He's a little melancholy, but he's just like you."
"Hi," Wonwoo says when Seungcheol steps into view.
(Hey moon, don't you fall down.)
There is something funny about their glasses frames being the same shape, their haircuts nearly the same. What else hasn't changed?
"Hi."