Little Things ~ Taekook

2

Tender are your words that fall on my ears,
Tender are your touches that kiss my skin,
Forlorn is the heart that bleeds blue,
Tender I am the fool, having fallen for you

-

Rarely do stories start where we wish they had, or end where we wish they would. Rarely sits someone, and listens to one that hasn't faced it's end. Admittedly, no one wants a half-remembered tragedy. When pain pierces through skin, one must remember it round and around, and must keep in mind, the blood and flesh it kissed.

If one were to take a walk through the streets of where this story rests, soft melodies can often be heard melting out of a window. The notes seemingly floating off the keys. Avowedly, one can get easily drawn in, disappearing into the tunes of black and white.

So did Jeongguk. Where bled seamlessly through his fingers into the keys of the piano, his blues; in the titchy spaces between. Filling them, strengthening the tunes, with his back hunched, sat Jeongguk.

The art of piano was taught at a young age, yet it didn't come through him until the tragedy. When the pain kissed the already there bruises, blood wasn't the only thing that was shed. Drowning — he, in the melodies, the movements, the whispers, Jeongguk found it easy.

Or atleast, that’s how Taehyung’s winds brought the whispers to him. And so, he found something to fall in, just as easily.

This story, this secrecy, carries on with the winds — it’s fairy, named Taehyung. One whose winds blew throughout the cold summers and warm winters.

For this story carries the fairy who fell for the whispers that rang on his ears that summer. The fairy that - when sent his winds towards another dimension, embroidered words in the spaces within, in languages, his darling didn't know.

Je t’aime. Aujourd’hui. Ce soir. Demain. Pour toujours.

[I love you. Today. Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever.]

A story where tender soughs were bold conversations, Taehyung would keep the tunes dispersed on his wings. So with movements, melodies fell upon his ears.

In August, the jasmine flowers; in September, sweetbriars; and in October, Taehyung slips in Jeongguk’s dreams.

That’s how the story goes, one
couldn't exactly remember - legends are often glorified, this one needed to be veiled in security, comfort.

It was either the slipping in dreams, or just Taehyung resting his closed eyes on Jeongguk’s sleeping ones, just when the murk of sunset started lingering. Conceivably to fall or flee, anything with Jeongguk.

When Taehyung sinks his eyes into Jeongguk’s, though, he catches a glimpse of the deep rise, the red and the blues, upcoming past and the gone future. With winds howling and murmuring, Taehyung finds his wings unable to hold himself up.

Taehyung didn't know about love, not for the most part, atleast.

One thing that he was sure about after that one slip, was if love’s a feeling, it’s the feeling of Jeongguk’s mouth. His holy, goddamned mouth. For when he breathed Taehyung’s name, Taehyung could swear on every flow of the wind that ever swirled, the whole sky spoke. The dip and curves of the dusks and dawns, the clouds, the stars — and Taehyung’s heart fluttered.

He’s only ever felt his wings do that. And introduced anything new, Taehyung would name it ‘magic’. Taehyung could vaguely remember his winds carrying these words to
him; “You give something a name, it stays.”

So Taehyung names Jeongguk, his magic.

Si je vivais mille ans, je t'appartien drais pour tous.

[If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you in all of them]

They’re in a house. Taehyung barely comprehends his surroundings. And there is a piano, and Jeongguk is there too, of course.

He was dreaming.

Or was he in the dream? Taehyung could vaguely remember that he subsided into Jeongguk so softly, so tenderly that their souls converged. Made way for the other one, and sunk when close enough to touch. But Taehyung couldn't reach out and touch. His hands couldn't move, for a moment he was stuck. In a dream, in a reality, in-between, somewhere.

The creak of a stool under the weight of his darling had Taehyung focusing, the ache making him turning the pages of the book Jeongguk kept gazing at as his fingers danced on the keys. The black and whites, turning yellow as Taehyung’s eyes lingered.

Were they supposed to yellow this rapidly?

It bleeds, something surely does, and Taehyung finds himself wondering if he’s weeping.

The house — or the dream, is filled with it. The smell of it, the last mishap, the latest gaffe, all of it, him. It was filled with an ache unbecoming, ache pulled to their knees, hands together, just beside the fire, over it, into it.

Taehyung wonders if it was there before, inside him, ever-present. For all the while the long, cold summer lasted, the bells on Taehyung’s wings poured gentle whispers on his ears.

There are places we could be, they said to him, places we could kiss if we want to.

But Taehyung had seen the light dying. And so, he had dipped once again and tasted Jeongguk.

Moved closer, had brushed their sides as he did so, breathed on his darling’s skin, and placed his lips on Jeongguk’s, the least lovable, the too-thin, the easy bruising, and he whispered continually.

I choose you. And you. And you .

Tender, soft, but such, such a gaffe, such a mistake. Canned that hunger, Taehyung did, spooning it into his lungs again and again until his own winds of sunrise carried him, and the heartache, back to reality.

Stories live through hearts, minds, and souls. Carried on, from generation to generation.Feelings, though, and dreams. They dance at your fingertips, at the matter of touch, at the matter of sight.

And when a sigh — a mere breath, tumbles out of your mouth, I wonder if you ever think of the unknown lovers and broken tragedies it looks for.

If Taehyung wanted to forget Jeongguk, over and through, he could. So easily, so softly, none a leaf would swish, but this matter was only possible, if Taehyung wanted to forget Jeongguk.

Si je vivrais mille vies, je te ferais mienne dans chacune d’elles.

[If I were to live a thousand lives, I would want to make you mine in each one]

tender are your whispers that I catch at sunrise,
tender were we, so soft, but unwise,
tender was my heart when it bled for you,
tender were my words when I said I love you

;;;

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