#I HAVE HIS VOICE BURNED ONTO MY NEURONS ITS CRAZY I LOVE HEARING HIM GET SO HAPPY!!!!! him n star wars <3 <3

[lavend3r-stardust]

You're nerdy about your comfort media?? You'll infodump for hours?? You have a genuine love and interest in fictional characters and worldbuilding and you look so fucking cute when you do it??? Like your whole face lights up and your teeth peek out from your upper lip and your eyelids crinkle as you double over from laughter and your hair suddenly looks so soft and brushable as it falls in your face and fuck you look so goddamn fine . . . Make out with me please please please please 👉👈

[gohyuck]

taeil - spontaneous combustion

i do not want to have you to fill the empty parts of me i want to be full on my own i want to be so complete i could light a whole city  and then i want to have you cause the two of us combined could set it on fire

- rupi kaur

The Duality of Man - rupi kaur collab with @haechan-haedamn

masterlist of TDoM

angst - slight mentions of blood, alcohol

Hands clench. Nails bite into sweaty palms. Crescents of blood emerge, only to go by unnoticed. 

(For now.)

Feet ache. Soles are raw. How long have you been running, sprinting through alleyways towards both salvation and damnation? There’s a clock tick-tocking in your ears, the sound tinged with red. It’s been there ever since you found him with her.

It is, actually, probably more of a bomb.

An arm shoots out in front of you out of nowhere and you stumble, not quite able to catch yourself. Luckily, the arm steadies you. 

Tick-tock.

“Looking for me?” A low, teasing voice joins the arm. Seconds later, shadows abandoned, so does a face.

The devil has never looked so handsome before. 

Tick-tock.

“Fuck you.” Is your automated response. Controlled voice. Robotic, monotonous.

Practiced.

(Through tears and gasping sobs, clutching at the cracked porcelain sink, staring at the cracked reflection, realizing the cracked person.)

For a moment he looks confused and you, for a split second, wonder if you’re wrong. His dark eyes are endearing albeit hurt and you feel electricity course through your body. It’s different from the first time you met him, though. 

That electricity powered homes. This one powers nuclear reactors. 

“Cheater.” Sharp, to the point. “Asshole. Dickwad. Complete and utter piece of shit.”

Tick-tock.

Then his face changes, features rearranging. Malice is obvious, so obvious in his sneer. Disgust is in there somewhere too, you can feel it. In a tick you’re up against the grimy wall, his arms caging you in. The air around you is stale. 

“You deserved it, you little-” The taunt doesn’t reach its climax as he’s pulled from you abruptly. You watch him get flung against the dented trash bin leaning against the other wall of the alleyway. You’re awestruck for just a moment. A flash of time, gone as quick as it came. 

Blink, blink. 

You push yourself off of the wall. There are five little marks in each of your palms. They sting. How long have they been there? He’s groaning. The other, and already decidedly much better, he, is looking at you expectantly. 

Tick-tock. 

You won’t call him your savior - given another second you could have fended for yourself just fine. Ungrateful isn’t in your vocabulary, though, and you keep yourself from taking your anger out at him rather than the man it’s meant for. 

“(Y/N).”

“I’m Taeil.”

“Thanks, Taeil.”

“No problem.”

“I suggest you leave, though. For whatever you were planning on doing before you helped me. I don’t need witnesses.” 

He nods, steals one more repulsed glance at your ex. Sticks his hands in his pockets. Does he have crescent scars on his palms too? You wonder why you wonder. Taeil walks away, not bothering to glance back. 

It’s good that he doesn’t. Cheater goes home with blood in his mouth and  his own tear tracks staining his neck.

“Crazy bitch.” He mutters, not bothering to acknowledge that you hadn’t laid a finger on him until he had slapped you the second Taeil disappeared around a corner.

“Come again?”

He starts running at your voice. Ha. You ignore the salt pricking your eyes as best you can, hellbent on glorifying your bruised knuckles instead. 

Not a neuron strays to the stranger who helped you, star passing by at the right moment.

Tick-tock. 

Five nights later, you find him again. Not on purpose - after all, you don’t even remember his name. Taeyong? Taehyung?

He’s on the rooftop of your building, cigarette between two paint stained fingers. The smoke curls up into the night sky. For a fleeting second you find the gray more beautiful than the stars in the sky. 

Shake your head. Maybe the thoughts will fall out. 

He doesn’t look at you more than once. You don’t even know his name. He sees that in your eyes. 

“Taeil. Moon Taeil. (Y/N)?”

“Yeah.”

Tick-tock. 

Taeil never takes a drag of his cigarette. Lets it burn out. Smears the ashes onto the concrete rooftop with the rubber sole of his old sneakers. It’s poetry in motion. 

Neither of you speak. What’s there to talk about? Too many people let their words flow without saying anything worthwhile. You hate that. What you don’t hate is silence - rather, you’re sure that it’s your first love, sometimes. Taeil is happy to supply it. Eventually you stand up, stretch your arms.  

“It’s late, Moon Taeil.”

“Good night, (Y/N).”

Tick-tock.

Two nights later. 

“Hey.”

“Your fingers are blue.”

“It’s paint.”

“Oh. Alright. Your cigarette is burning out.”

“I know. It’s almost done.” 

“Okay.”

Tick-tock.

Next night.

“Why do you always let them burn?”

“Otherwise my dad will smoke them. Feels like a waste to just throw them away. Also, I like crushing them.”

“Ah… the great Taeil does have the ability to say more than two words.”

“As if you’re much of a conversationalist.”

“…Fair.”

Tick-tock.

“Don’t you have school, Taeil? University?”

“No. Dropped out. I paint and sell my work for a living. Maybe someday I’ll make it big.”

“You should show me someday.”

“I will.”

Tick-tock.

“I don’t know how you look like in the sun.”

“I think we’re both people of the night, anyways.”

“You’re absolutely right, (Y/N). It’d be nice, though, to meet outside of here.”

“Yeah, it would. Someday, we should.”

Tick-tock.

“Did he ever leave you alone?”

“Who?”

“Cheater.”

Your chest contracts. Heart aches for just a second. Breath pauses.

“Oh, him. Haven’t heard from him since. Out of sight, out of mind.” 

“Glad to hear it. Can’t really see you two together.”

“We were, though. Anyways, it isn’t like you really know me, Moon Taeil.”

“Should I?”

“That’s up to you.”

Tick-tock. 

“Well, then.”

A beat passes. Your eyes trace his jawline, not out of boredom. You’re not sure what it’s out of. He continues, looking out across the next rooftop over, squinting out at the stars.

“Let’s play question and answer.”

Tick-tock.

“Someday. It’s late, after all.”

The cigarette falls from his hand. He crushes it beneath his foot. 

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Tick-tock.

Weeks pass, nights spent on the roof become more and more constant. Twenty questions forgotten. Your ritual goes on of the two of you sitting in near complete silence, only talking when you felt there’s a need to. The only change is how close you sit by him, now. The quiet is never uncomfortable; in fact, it’s quite the opposite - Taeil, at this point, is the only person on the planet you’re truly free around. 

It comes as a surprise that, when you come back from weekly grocery shopping, arms laden with bags and panting from climbing up seven flights of stairs - you wish you could afford a complex with an elevator - there’s a sticky note on your door. 

bring booze tonight. also remember q&a

Short and sweet and to the point. You haven’t known him long - it’s been maybe two and a half months - but it’s the most Taeil note you’ve ever seen. You wonder why he wants alcohol, tonight of all nights. 

You wonder why you wonder. 

(Feels like deja vu.)

Tick-tock.

You’re buzzed. Only slightly. You make sure to stay away from the edge of the rooftop, though. If you fall, there’s no saving you, nothing underneath to land on. 

Taeil might not catch you in time. 

There’s a flower drawing on the floor by your right foot. Has it always been there? It’s chalk, faded pink and yellow. You pat it appreciatively. It’s pretty.

“Number fourteen.” Taeil announces. He’s closer to you than he ever has been before. You could lay your head on his shoulder if you wanted to, but you’re not quite brave enough for that just yet. He’s your star boy, your night sky. With a slightly tipsy giggle you realize that he’s your moon. You don’t quite want to scare him away.

“What do you work as?”

You turn to look at him. His eyes are trained on you, gaze unwavering. 

Smile. He smiles back. 

Tick-tock.

“I’m a cashier for the convenience store down the street. I only work the early mornings, though. It’s why I leave before you every night. Trying to save up for school, so I can get far, far away from here.” 

Taeil chuckles at this. “Admirable. Relatable. I wish I’d stayed in school, sometimes, but I love painting more than anything… when it isn’t killing me.” You’re not sure if it’s your imagination or if he closes the gap between you two just by a bit. Without your permission a blush makes it up to your cheeks. You look away.

Tick-tock.

“Fifteen,” You pause, trying to think of something interesting. “What’s something about you that I completely wouldn’t expect?” You take a sip of vodka, straight from the bottle. It still seems nearly full, but you’re slowly getting more inebriated.

“I could say absolutely anything, you know that right? Like that I have four nipples, or a twin who’s been posing as me half of these nights.” 

You just stare at him. The alcohol’s starting to fry your ability to snarkily respond to things. 

He smiles, and you’ve never seen someone look so ethereal. You can attribute his glow to the full moon behind him. Every plane of his body, line of his features, is highlighted. Empyrean. You have to will yourself to not reach out and drag your fingers across his face, memorizing all of him with your skin.

Tick-tock. 

“I have a photographic memory.” He eventually relinquishes, and this time he really does get closer to you. Taeil’s breath fans across your jaw and you feel his hand at the small of your back as he whispers the next part of his sentence to you. 

“I was too lazy to use it to my advantage in high school, though. The only time it’s actually helped me is with remembering every curve of your beautiful face.” 

…

Bang.

That’s all it takes. His words low against your ear and palm splayed across the thin layer of clothing covering your skin. You barely give yourself time to set your bottle down before stradding him, hands running over the sides of his face. He’s drunk and you’re drunk. It doesn’t get better than this. 

“This,” Taeil mumbles out as you attach your lips to his jaw, “is why I said to bring booze, by the way.” One hand is at your waist, high enough and low enough to be safe. The other is propping him up. 

“Liquid courage?” Your words are quiet, muffled by his skin, but he can hear you just as well as he can feel you. You detach your lips from the junction of his neck and jaw, lay your arms out over his shoulders. He moves to sit up completely, letting you sit back in his lap. 

“Fire in my veins.” He grins. Quicker than expected, his lips are ghosting over yours. “I already have every part of you memorized with my eyes. My lips are starting to feel left out.”

“Sixteen.” You say, slightly out of breath and even though you asked a question last. “Do you feel what I feel?”

“Yes.” Short and sweet and to the point.  

You’re complete. He’s complete. 

You close the gap. 

His shirt comes off, and so do your pants. It doesn’t get farther than that, though. Both of you are too clumsy, too drunk. Instead you lay down on the rooftop, his arm underneath your head and your face buried in his chest. 

You stay awake long enough to see the sun come up over the horizon. Taeil had knocked off twenty minutes prior. 

Funny, you think to yourself, how the sunrise makes it seem like the world is on fire.

There’s no time to ponder this, though. You’re out like a light within minutes.

You wake up in your own bed, keys on your nightstand and jeans folded neatly beside them. 

Blink. 

Taeil must’ve carried you back to your apartment. Something about that strikes a chord in you. You’re not sure what you feel. 

Your head pounds. All you see and hear are red.

The clock is gone, though - the constant ticking and ringing in your head. Odd. 

Working against the screaming in your head, you stumble out of bed and pull on old clothes. Your shirt might be backwards, but for the moment being you couldn’t care less. There’s nothing in your living room. 

You’re not sure why there would be. You’re not sure what you’re looking for. 

The kitchen is empty too, and so is the bathroom. You’re a little frantic, you feel it. You wonder why. 

You wonder why you wonder.

Swinging open the front door, you almost trip over yourself in your frenzy. There’s something the size of a paper folder leaning against the faded, cracked wall beside the entrance to your apartment. A sticky note is on your door. Scratch that, two sticky notes, one under the other.

You first pick up the something, aching as you bend down. It’s worth it immediately, however, as you realize what it is. 

A painting. 

Of you. 

No doubt by Taeil - his autograph, scrawled as if in a hurry, in the corner - and no doubt the fruits of his photographic memory, of your nights out together, and of his talent combined. 

You’re looking straight ahead in the painting, one foot slightly out in front of the other as you sit. Your elbow is supported by your knee and your chin is in your hand. It’s from the first night out on the roof, you realize with a start. 

The only difference between the real scenario and the painting is the background - the roof is the same, you are the same, your clothes are the same..

But instead of the moon lighting everything up, it’s the rising sun, just above the horizon. 

It’s beautiful. 

It’s also damning. 

Immediately you know. Without reading the notes you know. You wonder how you know. You wonder why you wonder. You wonder why you don’t feel any sadness. You wonder why you wonder. You wonder why he didn’t tell you face to face, person to person. You wonder why you wonder. You wonder why you don’t know what to feel, outside of a migraine and a huge need of a glass of water. 

Water. That sounds good right now. 

As if robotically, you open the door to go inside, letting it click behind you. Painting in hand. You set it down on the couch. You’ll hang it up later. What you don’t know now is that in the future, it will sell for millions. He doesn’t know either, not yet. 

You leave the notes out on the front door. You’ll read them later. For now, you think you need a drink of water and to lie down.

After all, everything you hear is tinged with red. The ticking is back, too. 

y/n -    going to manhattan.    i submitted a collection of paintings of you to a committee and got accepted.   that was the other reason for the alcohol.   i didn’t know how else to say it.   turns out i didn’t say it, anyways.    it was good while it lasted. 

  we were good while we lasted.   i don’t know who set the fire and who kept it going.   i just know that the fire was us.    also,   i promised you you’d see my artwork someday.   this is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever painted…   of the most beautiful muse i’ve ever had. - il