writtendlessly (writtendlessly) wrote,
writtendlessly
writtendlessly

One Fell Swoop Drabbles - Part I

I decided to do a bunch of drabble-type-things based on the different songs in the Spill Canvas album One Fell Swoop. I love this artist and their lyrics, and wanted to use this to get me back into the swing of things some more. Instead of posting all 13 drabbles at once, I thought it would be better to post some as I finish them, otherwise you wouldn't see anything on this LJ for a long ass time. So, here we go!


{i know your legs are pleading to leap} | soohyun-focused

Sometimes Soohyun feels like he’s standing on the edge of the world. With nothing but the grip of his shiny black dress shoes keeping him secure, he teeters on the cusp of the universe. He looks down at the infinite void and can feel the weight of the entire Earth behind him. People and cars and buildings. Oceans and forests and deserts. People he knows and loves, all with the power to send him falling headfirst into time and space with only a whisper of his name. The slightest exhale and the ground slips from beneath him and he’s gone. They could say “I love you” or “Get away from me” or “Pass the salt” and he’d disappear as if he was just a figment of their imagination. It’s a lot of power, and he’s lucky they don’t notice him much anyways, choosing to talk amongst themselves instead. Their breath moves in the opposite direction as him and he’s safe, always pulled back just enough that he can never get a chance to see what’s at the bottom of it all.

Soohyun is aware this is a weird thought to have in the middle of a concert, but to his credit he’s not actually on stage right now. In fact, he’s wandering around backstage with the other main vocalists, watching the rappers perform through the small monitor they have set up. Kevin and Hoon are sitting, already changed into their next outfits, while Soohyun paces and tries to secretly take another pain pill. It’s not that he’s necessarily injured, definitely not according to the company, but years of untreated aches and pains will inevitably catch up to you and Soohyun feels about 60 years old right now. The throbbing pain in his left shoulder is relatively new, but he doesn’t dare bring it up now.

Another pain pill will do, even if they’re only the mild, non-prescription kind. He’s had friends offer to get him the real ones—the secrets of the music industry, Soohyun thinks and laughs a little to himself—and even his little sister suggested giving her doctor symptoms she didn’t have, and mailing the medication over to him. But Soohyun is nothing if not an honorable guy, and maybe a slight martyr, and would rather not have any nefarious drug deals traced back to him. He tells himself it’s the right choice, even as the throb in his shoulder tries to convince him otherwise.

It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course, but one can only be ignored or rejected so many times before they give up.

He passed out after their third straight hour of dancing; they told him, “Let’s finish filming the music video first.”

His throat seemed to close up on him and he couldn’t sing; they told him, “This music festival is extremely important.”

He said his back was so sore he could barely stand; they told him, “You’re starring in a musical next month.”

He gets it, he really does. No one can properly cover his lines. They need him there because no one can be his replacement. Though with the way they’ve given Hoon musical after musical, it seems they’re training him to do just that. Sometimes he sees the younger boy practicing the older songs they rarely perform anymore, and he runs through not only his lines but Soohyun’s as well. He’s still not sure if he should be worried or flattered.

Sometimes Soohyun wonders if at the bottom of the endless dark is just a warm bed, an eternity of rest for weary bones. Some would have him believe it’s churning seas of lava, a molten core moving the continents and the stars and the souls that live between them. Realistically, Soohyun thinks, it’s probably just nothing. A sentence that trails off before it finishes, a metronome, a hospital flat line.

Anytime he tries to take a glance, risk falling just to satisfy his curiosity, he is always tugged backwards by the force of a million voices. They keep their backs to him as they discuss Other Men and Other Sons and Other Singers. This Other must be an amazing guy, one who calls his mother often and knows how to sing and shut up, without ruining it for everyone else. Other is only a few letters away from Better.

The missing letters form a rope around his neck—nothing so morbid as a noose, but more like a collar. He ever strays too far and it tightens, reminding him of exactly who he answers to. But he finds it’s loose enough to stand just on the edge of it all, Earth at his back and eternity below the tips of his shoes. There’s just enough give to let him wonder, to dream and hope, but never to see. The curiosity is natural, Soohyun has learned, but you’re never, ever supposed to act on it.

Soohyun swallows another pill for good measure as he steps back on stage. The screams of the fans rise up like an ocean wave. Showtime.

The rope tightens.



{angel, what are you hiding from me?} | aj/kevin

Jaeseop can read Kevin like his favorite book. Even with the spine cracked and cover worn out, the inside will always hold true. The plot twists snaking around the subtle dips and curves of his body. His favorite lines reading like braille on the surface of Kevin’s sweat-soaked skin. The rising crescendo of suspense in breathy moans in the early morning. The denouement in his smile, fading at the edges. The foreshadowing of things to come in wandering eyes. Every heal-toe, heal-toe step giving away his insecurities. The twitch of fingers on table tops broadcasting every emotion, loud and clear, directly to the frequency of Jaeseop’s beating heart.

And much like the story he’s read a hundred times before, the ending did not come as a surprise.

Jaeseop knew what happens to men like him, who fall hopelessly and violently in love a few hours too late. He’s read every story, heard every tale; warnings of tigers eating their young and lighthouses blinking in the eyes of a lover left at a port to die. It never ends well, not in this industry, not when there is two years of history he could never compete with. Two years might as well have been two centuries.

He saw all the warning signs, knew all the repercussions, and still couldn’t stop himself from diving in headfirst. Passionate, unwavering love is an amazing thing, but it’s blind at night.

Jaeseop realizes too late that love was never pouring rain kisses and moonlight dances. It’s a knife pressed to your throat when it’s too dark to see anything and the sickening awareness that you must have fallen asleep, watch dogs of your untamed spite and barbed wire fences wrapped in solitude not enough to keep you safe anymore. You must have fallen asleep.

More than anything, Jaeseop thinks that all his favorite parts went by too fast, pages more frayed and ripped as he nears the end that he had seen coming from the first word. He can hear over-extended metaphors in late-night meetings somewhere far, far away from his apartment. He can feel pieces of dialogue hanging like loose strings from ruffled shirts. He can read concluding narration in the strands of Kevin’s hair, too deliberately ruffled to be simply windswept like he promises.  Narration that reads: This is it. This is what you expected. This is what you were waiting for.

Knowing that the reliable sidekick of the main character betrays him in the end never actually lessens the sting when it happens. He was supposed to help him win. They were supposed to do it together. You were never supposed to love him, and why did you have to fall asleep?

Maybe he should have got out sooner. He should have built up whatever fortifications he could, making molotov cocktails with words he doesn’t mean, hurling them at unseen attackers in the dark of the night. He should have ripped out the pages at the end of the book before he read them, rewrote his own ending with teeth and nails on the plains of a back he no longer lays claim to. He should have scribbled lines of poetry in bruises on hipbones, weaving verses of how those eyes used to look only at him, guiding him through troubled waters like the north star.

But boats sink, trains derail and what he thought of as love ends up scattered and broken at his feet. Jaeseop clings to hope like the smell of expensive cologne clings to the insides of Kevin’s thighs, marks littering the skin he would never dare to mar. As he turns to the final pages of the book, things get messy, words crossed out and notes in margins. Underlined parts he shouldn’t have missed, like voices in the background of late-night phone calls and trembling hands on the warmest of days. Entire sections are blacked out but he still knows the words off by memory; I would have done anything. Underneath it all, one short phrase stands out, highlighted in neon. He never fucking loved you.

Jaeseop grabs a pen and writes the only thing he can think of past the cannon fire in his head, a simple warning to himself and others, jotted in blood red ink at the bottom of a white page.

Sleep with one eye open at night.
Tags: drabbles, fandom: u-kiss, pairing: aj/kevin, pairing: none
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