Ship/Member: Seungkwan-centric, Seungkwan & Vernon Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: N/A Permission to remix: Yes
***
This is not the last snowfall
Not our last embrace
But if I were that kind of grateful
What would I try to say?
Seungkwan doesn’t cry, when they drop the news.
He doesn’t cry because it’s been a long time coming, a whisper in the hallway, a cancelled schedule. It was Jeonghan going on hiatus and Seungcheol going to Daegu and Minghao spending half the year in China. It was Wonwoo coming back from the military service and going straight to a film set. And even before then it was the debut of a new boy group, the one with Lee Gun as leader. They had all celebrated and cheered and Chan beamed bright at the showcase, but somewhere in Seungkwan’s heart there was a little voice that said: so this is the beginning of the end.
Seungkwan doesn’t cry because he had cried, before.
At the end of their first Japan tour, drunk on Asahi beer and warm sake, a feeling had just welled up and Seungkwan buried his face in Mingyu’s shoulder, letting the sweater soak away his tears. He doesn’t know why he cried then. It was just the giddy high of adrenaline and success mixing in his heart, stewing as they shuffled away from the stage, the noise of fans shut out by van doors. It had simmered in his lungs as they drove to dinner, and as the food came and drinks were poured out, that feeling had settled in his stomach, leaving his heart empty with a vague sense of, this too, will pass.
At that moment he had sniffled and Mingyu pushed him away, palm on forehead and mouth in a pout. It was easy, to laugh then and push back, to tussle Mingyu’s hair and forget about the half formed thoughts that were taking shape.
Seungkwan had felt it again when they were filming HIT, when they all stood up on the pedestals, towering like Greek statues, shoulders back and proud like Gods at the dawning of the world. When they sang, he saw the awed looks on the crew, the cameramen, the directors and the assistants, the make-up and hair staff, the company managers, the lunch deliverymen. He heard the harmony of the other twelve together with his own voice, and felt the shudder in his bones when the sound echoed through the warehouse.
When Seungkwan looked down, his knees bucked at the height. Seeing the small space on which he stood, a thought flashed through his mind — what if I fell —
Later that day, Chan had suddenly turned to him and said, “Hyung, you’re crying.”
Seungkwan jerked his hands to his eyes, surprised.
He doesn’t know why he cried then either. He thinks of that moment, that pride of being part of a team that worked so hard, to stay together. He didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling, so he just said —
“I want all 13 of us to last a really long time.”
When the news drops, Seungkwan does not cry because Seungcheol is not crying (if Seungcheol had been —).
It says something, how Seungcheol was the first person he looks to, even after all these years.
The second person he looks at, is Hansol. Seungkwan searches his expression but there is nothing to read. Hansol is still and solemn, face pristine as fresh snow and just as quiet. He was looking forwards and something in Seungkwan flares, indignant and disbelieving. He reaches out his hand, fingers curling in Hansol’s palm, wishing for him to curl back, for Hansol’s hand to turn into his like sunflowers facing the sun.
Hansol’s hand does not move, but his face does. He turns to Seungkwan, lips tight, and he nods, once.
Seungkwan wants to yell then, to make a sound that could ease the pressure inside him, but the silence is overbearing and chokes it in his throat. There are a thousand thoughts in this room right now and all he can think about was Hansol’s face. He doesn’t know why he was angry, deep down he knows he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t what he’s angry at, only that in this moment, he is overwhelmed with the bitter selfishness of wanting his own emotions reflected on Hansol.
I want you to cry — Seungkwan thinks. Except he knows Hansol won’t cry, not over something like this. To Hansol there was no devastation in truth. His mind moved like water, he accepted all changes that came his way, and he never faulted anyone for their mistakes, always looking towards the future, at the next step. Seungkwan wants to cry, but right now he can’t. He would feel better if Hansol cried.
I want to fight you — because there would be a satisfaction in pushing Hansol, for his hands to speak when his mouth could not. He did not need to find the words to make Hansol hurt and feel. Seungkwan wanted to see the emotion on Hansol’s face, to see his own face on Hansol’s eyes. He wanted to fight and tussle like they were 17 again (Seventeen again) —
This could be the last time all thirteen of them stood in the same room together. What if it was the last time? If there was never a next time, if everything changes and there would never be a next, this.
I want you to say something to me — Seungkwan thinks. His mouth opens, but before he makes a sound, Hansol is pulling him in by his wrist, his arms opening to encircle Seungkwan’s shoulders in an embrace. Seungkwan squeezes his eyes shut and smells Hansol’s cologne, feels Hansol’s breathing in his ear, and he lets himself cry.
FILL: (verkwan) this is not the last
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Permission to remix: Yes
***
Seungkwan doesn’t cry, when they drop the news.
He doesn’t cry because it’s been a long time coming, a whisper in the hallway, a cancelled schedule. It was Jeonghan going on hiatus and Seungcheol going to Daegu and Minghao spending half the year in China. It was Wonwoo coming back from the military service and going straight to a film set. And even before then it was the debut of a new boy group, the one with Lee Gun as leader. They had all celebrated and cheered and Chan beamed bright at the showcase, but somewhere in Seungkwan’s heart there was a little voice that said: so this is the beginning of the end.
Seungkwan doesn’t cry because he had cried, before.
At the end of their first Japan tour, drunk on Asahi beer and warm sake, a feeling had just welled up and Seungkwan buried his face in Mingyu’s shoulder, letting the sweater soak away his tears. He doesn’t know why he cried then. It was just the giddy high of adrenaline and success mixing in his heart, stewing as they shuffled away from the stage, the noise of fans shut out by van doors. It had simmered in his lungs as they drove to dinner, and as the food came and drinks were poured out, that feeling had settled in his stomach, leaving his heart empty with a vague sense of, this too, will pass.
At that moment he had sniffled and Mingyu pushed him away, palm on forehead and mouth in a pout. It was easy, to laugh then and push back, to tussle Mingyu’s hair and forget about the half formed thoughts that were taking shape.
Seungkwan had felt it again when they were filming HIT, when they all stood up on the pedestals, towering like Greek statues, shoulders back and proud like Gods at the dawning of the world. When they sang, he saw the awed looks on the crew, the cameramen, the directors and the assistants, the make-up and hair staff, the company managers, the lunch deliverymen. He heard the harmony of the other twelve together with his own voice, and felt the shudder in his bones when the sound echoed through the warehouse.
When Seungkwan looked down, his knees bucked at the height. Seeing the small space on which he stood, a thought flashed through his mind — what if I fell —
Later that day, Chan had suddenly turned to him and said, “Hyung, you’re crying.”
Seungkwan jerked his hands to his eyes, surprised.
He doesn’t know why he cried then either. He thinks of that moment, that pride of being part of a team that worked so hard, to stay together. He didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling, so he just said —
“I want all 13 of us to last a really long time.”
When the news drops, Seungkwan does not cry because Seungcheol is not crying (if Seungcheol had been —).
It says something, how Seungcheol was the first person he looks to, even after all these years.
The second person he looks at, is Hansol. Seungkwan searches his expression but there is nothing to read. Hansol is still and solemn, face pristine as fresh snow and just as quiet. He was looking forwards and something in Seungkwan flares, indignant and disbelieving. He reaches out his hand, fingers curling in Hansol’s palm, wishing for him to curl back, for Hansol’s hand to turn into his like sunflowers facing the sun.
Hansol’s hand does not move, but his face does. He turns to Seungkwan, lips tight, and he nods, once.
Seungkwan wants to yell then, to make a sound that could ease the pressure inside him, but the silence is overbearing and chokes it in his throat. There are a thousand thoughts in this room right now and all he can think about was Hansol’s face. He doesn’t know why he was angry, deep down he knows he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t what he’s angry at, only that in this moment, he is overwhelmed with the bitter selfishness of wanting his own emotions reflected on Hansol.
I want you to cry — Seungkwan thinks. Except he knows Hansol won’t cry, not over something like this. To Hansol there was no devastation in truth. His mind moved like water, he accepted all changes that came his way, and he never faulted anyone for their mistakes, always looking towards the future, at the next step. Seungkwan wants to cry, but right now he can’t. He would feel better if Hansol cried.
I want to fight you — because there would be a satisfaction in pushing Hansol, for his hands to speak when his mouth could not. He did not need to find the words to make Hansol hurt and feel. Seungkwan wanted to see the emotion on Hansol’s face, to see his own face on Hansol’s eyes. He wanted to fight and tussle like they were 17 again (Seventeen again) —
This could be the last time all thirteen of them stood in the same room together. What if it was the last time? If there was never a next time, if everything changes and there would never be a next, this.
I want you to say something to me — Seungkwan thinks. His mouth opens, but before he makes a sound, Hansol is pulling him in by his wrist, his arms opening to encircle Seungkwan’s shoulders in an embrace. Seungkwan squeezes his eyes shut and smells Hansol’s cologne, feels Hansol’s breathing in his ear, and he lets himself cry.