Raiting: PG13| 889words
There has always been something in Hyukjae’s unearthly wit, in the way he holds his camera, directs it to the sky and watches through it, feels the winter’s warm breeze and smiles into its smokiness and barbarity.
There has always been something in Hyukjae’s unearthly wit, in the way he holds his camera, directs it to the sky and watches through it, feels the winter’s warm breeze and smiles into its smokiness and barbarity. Donghae doesn’t understand, so he just stares at him from behind the school’s walls and sighs into its red bricks.
Donghae knows that there’s something more than those marvelous sounds in Hyukjae’s voice, he thinks that there are maybe emptiness and an intense biding for a distant future. Each time he listens to him reading some vacant lines of their English book, with his almost-like-perfect accent, he thinks of all sorts of some white Noiré with a darkish grey.
“Hey,” Donghae says as he slides down the wall to sit just beside Hyukjae’s smoking figure. He looks at him from the very corner of his eyes before smiling faintly.
He watches him throwing away the cigarette that he’s been smoking, before leaning against the wall to take some photos (he assumes) of the school’s backyard.
But Donghae doesn’t hear snaps. He doesn’t see white flashes coming of Hyukjae’s digital camera either. He just sees Hyukjae and his camera, and maybe the backyard too.
“What are you photographing?” Donghae asks and Hyukjae laughs.
“Nothing,” He tilts his head and watches the clouds deforming to make images that he can’t really figure out.
And Donghae decides to not ask again, because he knows that he won’t get an answer anyways.
The second time Donghae joins Hyukjae in the rooftop, he doesn’t find him alone. There was a biddy small back of a girl, leaning against walls and laughing over something that he can’t get.
He approaches them with small steps and Hyukjae focuses his brown orbs on him and smiles.
“You came,” He says making the girl turn back to his direction and smile politely at him.
“Yeah, I came,” Donghae doesn’t understand why the words flew this smoothly from his mouth, he doesn’t understand why do they seem this reassuring, why do they make promises that shouldn’t be existing.
“I guess that I should be going, Hyukjae.” The girl says with smiley eyes and Donghae thinks that her voice shouldn’t be this manly for a pretty girl as her.
Hyukjae doesn’t respond, he just waves his hand and smiles at her, and Donghae has the urge to ask who the hell is she, but doesn’t anyway.
“She’s my sister,” Hyukjae says, turning his attention to his digital camera again and Donghae just nods, because he really doesn’t want to comment about how boyish she seems.
And the afternoons were spent with Hyukjae and his digital camera, Donghae and maybe the backyard too.
“This camera is special,” Hyukjae says, smiling into the September’s air, and Donghae does really find him beautiful with all these orange rays coloring his hair and giving him a splendid image that he maybe shouldn’t be admiring this much.
“How is it special?” He asks, with his back laying on the dirty floor of the rooftop.
“It does only capture distinctive moments,” He says with a small smile and Donghae gives him a funny look.
“Don’t joke around Hyukjae,” He grins and breaths into the sunlight and the orange rays forming on Hyukjae’s skin.
The next time they meet, they are a whole mess, lips on lips, teeth on teeth, tongues on tongues and bodies on bodies.
“Wow,” Hyukjae says when he pulls away to only be cut again with Donghae’s madding mouth crushing onto his.
And Donghae thinks that Hyukjae’s digital camera should be photographing this moment right away, right here.
The next afternoon was spent with Donghae and the backyard, because Hyukjae was nowhere to be found, Hyukjae was maybe inexistent in the first place after all, Hyukjae was maybe a part of his soul’s grouts.
At that very moment, in that very last millisecond of processing, with his eyes glued to the backyard, with the imaginary melody playing at the back of his head, he knew what it was to love.
The cruel December air has blown his bangs away, making him pull his scarf to cover his mouth, with his eyes glued to the snowish sky of winter, and he thinks of Hyukjae’s hair and mouth, of his digital camera that is still waiting for a special moment to be captured, and he thinks of sweet and balmy kisses and uninsured promises.
“Come back soon, Hyukjae. To think that I love you,” He mumbles as his cold and fragile hands move to sniff the snow.
He turns back to the flash’s direction to find Hyukjae and his brownish hair, Hyukjae and his digital camera, Hyukjae and his mouth and sweet and balmy kisses.
“You know Donghae; they say that the best photos are the ones which are taken by surprise,”
And Donghae thinks that he has found, finally, something more than that emptiness and biding for a distant future in Hyukjae’s voice, and something more than untaken pictures in his hands.
He smiles with tears drenching his face. Welcome back Hyukjae.