Love breaks my bones𖦹°‧★

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Unbreakable; with KIM MINGYU

And suddenly she could feel her naivety radiating all over; from the balls of her feet to the backs of her knees to the tips of her fingers, she felt overcome by it.

Between erratic flashes of the inebriating disco lights, CHOI SEOL dances like there’s no tomorrow. She doesn’t see her friends pushing past the crowd to get to her, or that the neon pink lights have faded into a milder blue, or that directly in her line of sight, the dull ache that is KIM MINGYU stands, wide-eyed, where everyone else is jumping to the beat.

When she catches sight, the music slows, and the heavy beats of the EDM replace themselves with the slow, steady, thumps of her heart.

Wide open, standing in momentary shadows and sudden flashes of light, he’s a head taller, and his shoulders are twice as wide as they used to be. His eyes are darker, and his jaw sharper. His hair is cropped to his ears and she suddenly doesn’t recall being away from him long enough for all these years to have worked their ways on him.

When she thinks about it now, the dull ache throbs back into life, into something more whole. It’s strange, and heart-breaking, and she can almost see the gap of years. Almost jump right into the chasm. And he’s just standing there: like the universe had folded upon itself again and again just to put him in her path, in this exact moment, in this exact trajectory.

She attempts to make meaning of this cosmic coincidence. That it may have been a sign from some higher deity. But she knows better — she knows that silly, superstitious thoughts are beneath her; that they will bite.

And yet, still, still, after all this time, and no matter how many promises she’d made to herself, in the face of this man — this boy — she was still the same, stupid girl she always was.

And suddenly she could feel her naivety radiating all over; from the balls of her feet to the backs of her knees to the tips of her fingers, she felt overcome by it.

She felt as though he had come to rip open and pin her up for the whole world to see: putting her foolish, soft, heart on display.

“Seol,”

And the music might have stopped; she’d never know. He’d call, and she’d drown out the background noise to hear.

And it’s a giddy feeling, to hear your name hung upon a familiar pair of lips, to be struck by the familiarity in the way a word is enunciated. And how dare he? After all these years, how dare her name slip from his tongue like it had never left it?

She bolts for the exit.

First,

Everything is blue.

Getou Suguru is seventeen. Gojo Satoru is blue. He is wild flashes of indigo peaking through dark lenses, and comically large movements, and loud words, loud laughter, louder feelings. He is warm, inebriated hues of dark, ocean blue in quiet corners of the school. Where no one is watching. He is soft sighs, and bruised lips, and cracked-open hearts. He is steady desire, blatant and thrumming at the bone and refusing to let go. Then he is also crystal-cobalt, glimmering like a divine entity, glass-fragile and out of reach, cosmically beautiful and simultaneously, cosmically doomed.

Then,

Everything is grey.

Gojo Satoru is twenty. Getou Suguru is grey.

In the gloomy-grey autumn of 2007, their legs dangle off the edge of a parapet.

Suguru Getou has a cigarette wedged between his pearly whites, lighter flickering with his thumb.

“Those are gonna kill you before a curse gets to, y’know,” Satoru Gojo mumbles, humming in disapproval. He nudges the brunette, who scoffs, bringing the flame to the tip of his tobacco. Gojo chokes at the wispy smoke Getou exhales.

“I’d much prefer it that way.”

(This is Satoru’s cosmic trajectory. The choosing. The loving. The loving despite.)

[Gojo Satoru is beautiful. But he’s also real.]

In the summer of 2006, they are invincible in the way all seventeen-year-olds are invincible

They sit under the shade of one of Jujutsu high’s many trees. Suguru, belly flat on the ground, ankles wet with morning dew, nose buried in some yellowed pages of a book. Satoru, back splayed against the soft grass, palms defiantly pressed against the azure blue sky.

“Yo, Suguru,” Gojo interrupts only the sounds of the cicadas and the wind, squinting through his glasses,“what d’ya think they’ll make us do on our next mission?”

“Mm?” The brunette brushes his bangs out of his eyes, shutting the book, shifting his attention to the boy with the white hair and gorgeous blue eyes.

“Our next mission…ah, I don’t know. Probably something manageable…Grade 2 curses or something.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Gojo shrugs, retuning to lie flat and stare at the sun, bright blue peeking through the gaps in his eyeglasses.

He’d do this sometimes. Think up some redundant question and ask it out of the blue, as if in between the longer moments of quiet, he felt the need to remind Suguru of his presence. (It’s not like Getou, or anyone, really, could have ever, in any lifetime, any cosmic trajectory, forgotten.)

On a late night of the windy-blue, salty spring of 2007, Gojo Satoru whispers his secrets in the dark. There’s no one in the room to hear him but the scratchy cotton sheets of Jujutsu High’s years-old dormitories, a knocked-out Getou Suguru, and the curses that linger.

His tugs at the frayed-out wires of his earpiece and sets it to the side. Shifts around in the bed to lay down, (where he’d previously been leaning against the wooden bed frame.) The bed is too small for two but they share anyway, because Gojo insists, because the world is so big, too big, because he sometimes feels their youngness thrumming throughout the backs of his knees, the balls of his feet, and his bones. Because it’s a cruel world they fight for. Because the world is big and the bed is small.

“You…” he starts, his voice raspy, throat dry. He blinks, snow-white eyelashes fluttering in the dark. Suguru sleeps deeply, blissfully unaware.

Gojo knew it all along. These feelings, this ache. He gently traces the characters on his back.

Now he had to say it. No matter how much the rest of the world or Getou, might have already known. (back in those spring days, and whenever, and forevermore, they are the same thing to Gojo Satoru)

“You’re so fucking lucky I was nearby, Mattsun,” he says, as if anyone in the room thought he would have ever passed up any opportunity to see Hajime again.

He still felt as though he was a 23-hour flight away. And it’s half strange, half heart-breaking, to be honest. To hear the way his mother tongue now sounds awkward on his lips, after all these years. To be in front of his brown eyes again, and be reminded that this Oikawa Tooru was no longer his. And as unbelievably drunk he might have been, he couldn’t pretend it was nothing. Couldn’t hide the look of desire that was probably written all over his face.

I swear…I‘ll only make you cry

He’d pull, and pull, but he could never really give her what she wanted, that…life beyond all of his stardom and restraints. No matter how much he could have wanted her, he’d always want his career more.

She bumps into KWON SOONYOUNG in the dead of night, when the rest of the world is asleep. They slightly fall into each other in that moment of collision, a bit drunk, a bit soul-tangled. He grabs her arms and steadies her, despite being tipsy, and looks at her with that look of desire that made her want to crawl into a hole and hide away forever. His eyes are dirt-brown, illuminated by the gentle glow of the moon.

This memory would stay with her for years after. Him in a tank top and bermudas, smelling like soju and the jasmine flowers. Him, barefaced, moon-soaked and sweet. He looked so…normal, yet so fatigued, yet so beautiful. For a moment she thought she could forget how doomed they were from the start. For a moment it seemed like he didn’t belong to the world—just her.

“Hey, I’m…sorry.” He says, trying to steady himself, still holding on tight to her arms. (She wonders if there’s a double meaning to the apology)

“You okay?” She asks gently. She stares up at him with the same kind of yearning in her eyes that he knew to see through. He loosens his grip to push her hair out of her face, so gently, so softly, the cold of his fingertips on her skin made her want to cry.

“Why do you do this to me?” She says, not breaking her gaze. Her eyes water, but the world’s too blurry for him to notice.

“I don’t know…” he slurs, intoxicated.

She pulls away. He’d pull, and pull, but he could never really give her what she wanted, that…life beyond all of his stardom and restraints. No matter how much he could have wanted her, he’d always want his career more.

He’d forget about this in the morning.

It seems the spring flowers can only sigh, for no one is and will ever be as beautiful as you are.

In the spring, YOON JEONGHAN sits with a girl on a slab of cement under the cherry blossoms of Gangbuk. His legs dangle off the edge, arms at his back, propping him up. The girl with raven-black hair leans against him, reading, the faint sounds of her cassette player leaking through her earpiece.

He watches the pink leaves drift and fall slowly to the ground. Then, interrupting only the sounds of the birds and children playing:

“You’re a bit like them, y’know? The cherry blossoms.”

”Hm?” she asks, not taking her eyes away from her book.

“You remind me of the cherry blossoms,” he says, eyes lathered in wonder.

“In what way?” She asks, smiling. She still doesn’t look. The wind blows her bangs into her face. How could he have only noticed it then? That she was gorgeous. The way she laughed, or the way her uniform clung to her frame in the breeze.

“They enthrall me.”

“Yeah?” She sits up and faces him. Shuts her book. The wind is soft and cotton in his hair. The sun cast soft shadows of eyelashes on skin. She tangles her fingers with his, leaning forward; never once letting go.

I’ll be honest…I have not written anything new in AGES. Anyways enjoy this. She’s really short but I love her.

She wants to tell him how she loves him more than he could ever love her. How there’ll be no one else for her but him, but she is silent.

“I don't think I can do this anymore!” She cries, at last.

Sometimes, we say the things we do not mean to the people we love the most.

“What?” CHOI SEUNGCHEOL asks.

“I…it’s too much. All of it. Your life is so big and vast and more than I could ever imagine. I am too small to fit in it! Let’s be honest here, Cheol. I am not cut out for this.”

“I love you.” He simply says.

And she wants to tell him how she loves him more than he could ever love her. How there’ll be no one else for her but him, but she is silent.

“Look at me. Please.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! :-)

“You’ll remember this place, right? Like if you get big and famous and stuff, and everybody knows your name, you won’t forget, right?” She asks quietly. She says “this place” like it doesn’t really mean “me”.

“You’ll remember this place, right? Like if you get big and famous and stuff, and everybody knows your name, you won’t forget, right?” She asks quietly. She says“this place” like it doesn’t really mean “me”.

The two sit on a pavement by the beach, legs pulled to their chests. The air is salty and sticky. Her fifth ice lolly of the day melts on her tongue in the summer heat as she asks the boy next to her. He stamps his feet at the ants that had gathered over the melted dessert she had dripped on the floor.

She’s afraid of being forgotten. He was two years older, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him leading a life without her in it. She could see him, glittering idol, glory etched in his bones. He was always meant for greater things. She knew that.

“‘Course not,” BOO SEUNGKWAN laughs, “why would I?” He rumples her hair. She doesn’t really believe this, and she hates the way he makes it (her) seem like a joke. Like a kid. Like the things she wants are childish, and stupid, so ludicrous he had to laugh it off.

The sun set over the island, and the tides lapped over the shore in their own rhythmic manner, and she felt waves of sorrow and desire swirl about in her chest. She felt like she was losing this boy she’d grown up with and always ever loved to the rest of the world.

“Just…don’t forget, okay, I mean it.”

“I mean, I’ve been waiting quite a few years now. I really, really, fucking want to kiss you. Can I?” He laughs a bit at the desperation in his own voice. But also the raw emotion behind the words.

“I think you’ll want this to sober up,” she calls, holding out a cup of instant noodles at the tall boy. He reaches out to get it, letting his cold fingers gently touch hers.

She doesn’t move away. Never did. He’d always do this, reach out, move closer, so subtly, so silently, like a question. And she’d never pull away, but never give him an answer, either. They understood the complexity of their situation. He was always going to be out of reach in his big, glowy, K-pop star way. And she was always going to be a nobody.

Yet it seemed today KIM MINGYU was adamant on giving a voice to his questions.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice shaky.

“Huh?”

“I mean, I’ve been waiting quite a few years now. I really, really, fucking want to kiss you. Can I?” He laughs a bit at the desperation in his own voice. But also the raw emotion behind the words.

She nods. What is there to lose? On this quiet winter night, there is so little space between the two of them. He’s just him. Not some crazy celebrity, just the boy she’d always known.

Breaths twisting together as mist in the cold, she says yes. Yes to heaven. Yes to you.

He leans in, (smells like strawberries and soju and all things lovely) and his palm finds the nape of her neck, cold in the winter. He leans forward; fingers tangled with hers, and he kisses her like he has been thinking a long time about where he’d touch her. How he’d hold her. (So broken and delicate in his arms) They are two bodies pressed against each other, so full of yearning. Love stories and slow songs melting over their lips.

Mingyu’s eyes do not break away from hers as they pull apart, gasping for air. Under the moonlight, he gently pushes her hair out of her face, tracing soft lines down the right side of her neck.

“I love you.” He breathes the words, so quietly she would’ve thought they were meant for himself.

Ah, well.

“I want her,” he simply says. His fingertips tremble under the weight of his desire. The confession shocks him.

“It’s obvious, you know. The way you stare like no one’s watching.”

He turns to see Seungcheol in the doorway. His tone is a mix of understanding and warning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Though he did. She had come to get something from the studio, and although he kept to himself in the corner, (pretending not to notice) (pretending not to care), he almost bore into the mirror with the intensity in which he was observing her. And now Seungcheol had seen it. Understood it. This…desire.

“Soonyoung, I’m saying this for your own good. You have to decide what you want. For yourself and her. I’m saying that waiting around like this isn’t an option anymore. People notice things, you know.”

“I want her,” he simply says. His fingertips tremble under the weight of his desire. The confession shocks him. The meaning behind the words, the consequences it could bring. The fact that his heart had known it all along, but he had been too afraid to let the words slip into existence. The fact that he’s admitting this so easily now, into a space she frequents, as if the walls had ears and lips to whisper his secrets to her.

“I know.”

“I just…I just want her. But I think I can’t have her, and I…just…”

Heavily inspired by this scene from ‘Hidden Love’!

Her heart had remained the same. She still had all this desire seeping out from everywhere every time she looked into his eyes for too long, or when he bared all his teeth in his usual boyish grin.

The man sat by the steps, phone in his lap, lips red and dry from the cold. He looked up at her.

2 years and nothing really changed. JEON WONWOO looked tired. But he had the same smile. The kind that felt like he wasn’t really smiling at all. And the same eyes. The same meaningful stares. She pulled the sides of her jacket closer together. A pack of cigarettes tumbled out.

He picked it up, eyeing it, and then stared at her the way he always did, like he was so much older and wiser, that he knew so much better, that he could see through her. “Learnt to smoke, have you?”

She had known this forever: His eyes always had this wet look, like he was about to tear. With the redness of the harsh wind, she actually almost believed it.

“They’re not mine.”

That was true. She must have grabbed the wrong jacket on the way out.

He nodded.

“And in these 2 years, have you forgotten my name? Why have you not greeted me, kid?” He says this jokingly, but she has always hated the way he brought age into the conversation like it was a matter of fact. The way he called her ‘kid’, or nagged at her, as if to him, she was undoubtedly nothing but a child. And after all these years, had he not stopped to think that she had also grown? (It made her feel stupid and small. It made her feel less than he was.)

He only grins. He reaches out to touch her hair and tease her, and she moves away.

“What’s up, kid? Why do I feel like you’ve got something against me?” He asks, slightly confused at her cold treatment.

“Oppa.” She says. And then she stops to think for a while. And then she says again, “I wish you would not call me a kid anymore. I am nineteen now. I am a grown up.”

She expected him to think, to realise, maybe, that she was no longer the kid he knew since she was fourteen. Maybe he’d acknowledge that, then. And see her as a woman rather than a child. But he simply laughed, and the left side of her chest stung again.

“How grown up could you possibly be? I will always be five years older. You will always be a kid to me, even when you’re forty.”

She wished could make sense of all these feelings she had that she’d hidden for so long now. Maybe then, she could let him go. Find someone her age. But she couldn’t, no matter how many years it had been since she last saw him, no matter what she’d told herself or the new people she’d met, her heart remained the same. She still had all this desire seeping out from everywhere every time she looked into his eyes for too long, or when he bared all his teeth in his usual boyish grin.

“Never mind that,” he waves his hand, “how are you going back to your hostel? I’ll send you. You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but no. It’s okay. I’ll go back with my friends in a while.”

She does not want any more favours from him. She does not want him anymore.

“Alright, then. Be safe.”

She nods, and turns to leave, but he says again: “And hey, two years without seeing you and you’ve learnt to dress up. You look different now.”

Jjk (Stsg) 𓍊𖦹𓋼

(Unnamed 1)

(Gojo Satoru is beautiful. But he’s also real.)

Unnamed 3

Colours

Haikyuu! (Iwaoi) ꩜

(Unnamed 2)

Svt ☆

Don’t let me go; Minghao

Sunday morning; Joshua

Starry eyes; Mingyu

Strawberries and Cigarettes (and the god damned Polaroids); Jeongcheol

Summer rain (and the awkward conversations); Dokyeom

Places we won’t walk; Wonwoo

You’re the only good thing in my life; Hoshi

Yes to heaven; Mingyu

Crush; Seungkwan

Keep on loving you; Seungcheol

Hold me tight; Jeonghan

Cry; Hoshi

[In which he’s your brother’s best friend…]

She knew it now. That all she had with him would ever really be the heavy, awkward conversations. Yet they were everything to her.

“Hey,”

She raised her gaze for it to be met with that of a familiar boy’s worried eyes.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, and LEE DOKYEOM reached out to help her up, though when he noticed her struggle to balance herself on the skates, he bent down to take them off for her. Her throat dried out. She rather felt like a child, in only her fluorescent red socks against the hot, hard cement.

"I'll walk you home," he merely said and she nodded, because who would not, when he looked like that, dirt brown eyes and messy hair, skin still glistening under the shade. She could not comprehend how every feature of his could be beautiful to her but they just were.

Sometimes she wondered if he only treated her the way he did because she was his best friend’s little sister and he saw her as his own. If he saw her as a child. After all, she was fourteen to his nineteen. Those five years, however, were everything to her. As if in those five years, he’d seen all the parts to the world she hadn’t uncovered. As if in those five years, he might have been waiting for her to come along.

As she walked toward the boy, however, feelings of shame rose to the back of her throat. She was embarrassed, to say the least. She felt stupid, and childish. So she hid her face behind her hair in hopes of keeping away from the urge to look at him. She didn’t dare to, anyway, it reminded her too much of the previous times that summer where those shrewd eyes of his caught hers.

There wasn’t much to say when they were alone, she realized. She resented the fact she had so much trouble merely conversing with the tall boy. She was not sure if the slightly uncomfortable feelings were mutual, but she was sure that them being together like that, alone, was unusual.

As the sun set, the sky broke into hues of pinks and oranges. When they reached the end of her driveway, Dokyeom extended his arm, dangling the skates in his hand.

“Ah," she nodded and retrieved the very object that caused the butterflies in her stomach and the scrapes on her knees.

"Thanks, by the way," she said to him.

He looked at her for a moment, then shifted his gaze back to the path in front of him and grinned slightly to himself. "For what?"

She shrugged. "For helping me? And walking me home, I guess."

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

Then, there was the familiar silence she knew so very well. She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again, for reasons even she could not explain. She was about to thank him again, continue the conversation, but he’d caught sight of her brother.

“Hey, hyung!” he called, rushing forward.

“Dokyeom! What are you doing here,” YOON JEONGHAN grinned in return. He slipped into some slippers and rushed to open the gate.

The two began to converse in their own language. She realised, soon enough, that she’d never really have a part in that world. She didn’t understand; after all, fourteen year-olds didn’t have much in common with nineteen year-olds. Jeonghan whispered into his ear, and the gorgeous boy burst into a fit of laughter.