Ship/Member: Jeonghan/Mingyu Major Tags: implied toxic relationship (?) Additional Tags: mingyu pov (kinda?) Permission to remix: Yes
*** i was going to try some actual before-y scenes but anything i tried made me feel too sad to continue. i offer this instead Even a broken mirror can still reflect fragments of what it is shown. That’s how Mingyu consoles himself, at least, when he’s alone. It’s better than thinking of himself as a blind fool.
*
There’s something about setting oneself realistic challenges and goals to achieve. Like rearranging the room’s furniture to freshen up with the changing of the seasons; learning how to carve a gift with his hands and borrowed tools, because it was more meaningful for it to be handmade and from the heart; finding something novel and new to photograph on every hike he takes, a new story to carry back home.
He’s happy enough to fill in the spaces in the conversation that Jeonghan leaves for him, opening up about his day, conversations with friends, the unfamiliar bird he managed to take a photo of, hyung, see?
Jeonghan doles out far smaller fragments in return, and Mingyu greedily eats each one out of the palm of his hand. He rarely manages to pull out a similarly interested reaction from Jeonghan to any of his anecdotes, but even the smallest concession in his facade is enough to validate him—he’s addicted to uncovering every rare crack in his shell, even if its impassiveness sometimes makes him doubt whether he even cares at all.
Sometimes they sit in a silence that starts off as comfortable, but he’s always the first one to break it.
*
You see, he’s just a little addicted to trying to uncover the genuinity in Jeonghan’s reactions, in the lightly cutting dismissals and pseudo-joking jabs. Sometimes he doesn’t care either way if it means he can preen under a coo and congratulations—he knows how many walls he puts up over his heart, and he knows—is pretty sure—that even a lightly patronising compliment would reflect genuine approval.
He has a deep, deep well of patience and love to draw from for his friends and family, and for Jeonghan he is willing to stretch it to its fullest extent. He cuts past his complaints to drag Jeonghan along with him on outings, rotates through hobbies old and new that can be shared as a couple, plans regular dates at new locations to keep things exciting even when Jeonghan’s orders are predictable (except for when he spitefully selects something he might not even want to finish, which—does happen, sometimes).
He is happy to gently flick a new pebble at a locked window with each little effort he makes in their relationship, knowing that they will ricochet off—but hopefully, at least—collect down in the windowsill for when it finally does open.
But as the months pass he begins to find that there are only so many he can easily throw until he begins having to sift more and more through the dirt (he spent a lot of time researching the best kinds of potting soil to use, the nutritional supplements that their his plants may or may not need when inside a greenhouse). There are only so many he can throw up there until their precarious stacks begin to collapse and fall from their precarious ledge, and in the end it almost looks like he made no progress at all.
*
Up on one shelf in the living room, layers of dust have gathered on carefully sanded curves of wood, once given shape by novice fingers.
It’s half-hidden by booklets and guides; illustrated guides to plants, factsheets, lightly dogeared and carrying more than a few stray flecks of dirt inside their pages.
It would look much better if someone pulled the carving to the front of the shelf so it could be better seen. Better yet to give it a space all to itself, to be fully appreciated by others.
[REMIX] yarrow
Major Tags: implied toxic relationship (?)
Additional Tags: mingyu pov (kinda?)
Permission to remix: Yes
***
i was going to try some actual before-y scenes but anything i tried made me feel too sad to continue. i offer this instead
Even a broken mirror can still reflect fragments of what it is shown. That’s how Mingyu consoles himself, at least, when he’s alone. It’s better than thinking of himself as a blind fool.
*
There’s something about setting oneself realistic challenges and goals to achieve. Like rearranging the room’s furniture to freshen up with the changing of the seasons; learning how to carve a gift with his hands and borrowed tools, because it was more meaningful for it to be handmade and from the heart; finding something novel and new to photograph on every hike he takes, a new story to carry back home.
He’s happy enough to fill in the spaces in the conversation that Jeonghan leaves for him, opening up about his day, conversations with friends, the unfamiliar bird he managed to take a photo of, hyung, see?
Jeonghan doles out far smaller fragments in return, and Mingyu greedily eats each one out of the palm of his hand. He rarely manages to pull out a similarly interested reaction from Jeonghan to any of his anecdotes, but even the smallest concession in his facade is enough to validate him—he’s addicted to uncovering every rare crack in his shell, even if its impassiveness sometimes makes him doubt whether he even cares at all.
Sometimes they sit in a silence that starts off as comfortable, but he’s always the first one to break it.
*
You see, he’s just a little addicted to trying to uncover the genuinity in Jeonghan’s reactions, in the lightly cutting dismissals and pseudo-joking jabs. Sometimes he doesn’t care either way if it means he can preen under a coo and congratulations—he knows how many walls he puts up over his heart, and he knows—is pretty sure—that even a lightly patronising compliment would reflect genuine approval.
He has a deep, deep well of patience and love to draw from for his friends and family, and for Jeonghan he is willing to stretch it to its fullest extent. He cuts past his complaints to drag Jeonghan along with him on outings, rotates through hobbies old and new that can be shared as a couple, plans regular dates at new locations to keep things exciting even when Jeonghan’s orders are predictable (except for when he spitefully selects something he might not even want to finish, which—does happen, sometimes).
He is happy to gently flick a new pebble at a locked window with each little effort he makes in their relationship, knowing that they will ricochet off—but hopefully, at least—collect down in the windowsill for when it finally does open.
But as the months pass he begins to find that there are only so many he can easily throw until he begins having to sift more and more through the dirt (he spent a lot of time researching the best kinds of potting soil to use, the nutritional supplements that
theirhis plants may or may not need when inside a greenhouse). There are only so many he can throw up there until their precarious stacks begin to collapse and fall from their precarious ledge, and in the end it almost looks like he made no progress at all.*
Up on one shelf in the living room, layers of dust have gathered on carefully sanded curves of wood, once given shape by novice fingers.
It’s half-hidden by booklets and guides; illustrated guides to plants, factsheets, lightly dogeared and carrying more than a few stray flecks of dirt inside their pages.
It would look much better if someone pulled the carving to the front of the shelf so it could be better seen. Better yet to give it a space all to itself, to be fully appreciated by others.