domestic bliss

s0ulconnection | beast | junseung  | a hybrid between angst and fluff, mind | because they live together but don’t know what to make up of the word “domesticity”

 

 

 

note: this might seem confusing, since the 'he' won't be specified | this is inspired by NEVREK/VEELUHFY

 

 

 

for lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched

 

 

 

Junhyung would wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs, the sizzling sounds interspersed by the low grumble of his empty stomach, the pots and pans cheerfully clacking about. He would wait until called out of bed; the covers dragged from his shivering body and soft exhales of carbon dioxide breathed slowly into the shell of his ear.

 

 

 

hot coffee and cold winter mornings are two of the best soul mates who ever did find each other

 

 

 

Junhyung would relieve his bladder, brush his teeth and wash the sleep from his eyes. Then breakfast would be ready. They would sit at the table, an egg – sunny side up – placed in the sea of crisply fried bacon. A mug of piping hot coffee to the right of his place – in this one green mug, chipped and coffee-stained but familiar – hot scent of bitter dark fumes slowly waking him up.

 

 

 

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i cannot bear their bickerings

 

 

 

They fought about everything – Junhyung’s nagging, coke addiction, Hara, their parents, Junhyung’s fear of coming out, Junhyung’s pride, themselves – they never agreed with one another, especially when it came to their not quite relationship. Junhyung was insecure, delusions of being straightly heteroual but only in love with him – the relationship Junhyung had with cute, sweet, beautiful female Hara – Junhyung’s parents’ irrational fear and hatred from everything out of the ordinary – his socks left lying around – both of their spending on luxury items like there was no tomorrow – his inability to trust anyone, especially Junhyung – his insecurities – his feelings.

 

 

 

i can’t exactly describe how i feel but it’s not quite right. and it leaves me cold

 

 

 

They would start with mugs smashing and tables overturned, their paper intestines and stomachs spilling onto the floor, pages and pages of Junhyung’s raps and lyrics fluttering onto the floor – despite their fights he would never destroy the papers. He understood their importance to Junhyung, of emotions never said, of feelings too afraid to express, of anger penned down, of fear scrawled in the middle of the night when nobody was home. He had never and would never touch the papers – some yellowed and creased and white and pressed straight and folded too many times – Junhyung’s escape to the world of ink scratches and words.

 

 

 

i fell for her like suicide from a bridge

 

 

 

They would progress onto throwing everything around – shoes that both of them coveted and bought and shared, fancy ornaments given to them by the millions of friends they have, bookcases of classics and contemporary art and magazines rubbing spines – all his who could never have enough of printed glossy pictures, beautiful in their two-dimensional world. Glass panes would break, their kitchen a mess, the swimming pool littered with yards of fabrics and sketches and drawings – which Junhyung was not afraid to destroy despite the pack-rat tendencies he had always showed – Junhyung would never extend the same courtesy to him, because when Junhyung hurts, he lashes out against everyone, hoping that everyone hurts – more than he does, deeper than his own wounds.

 

 

 

you talk like winter rain

 

 

 

Junhyung would scream – and say many things he would never mean – only screaming in the heat of the moment – because Junhyung wants him to hurt as much as he does – because Junhyung is confused and angry and doesn’t know what to say – because Junhyung doesn’t want to feel – doesn’t know what to feel.

 

 

 

what if i slept a little bit more and forget all about this nonsense

 

 

 

They would end, with his face solemn – never crying because he once told Junhyung that his tears had all dried up and there was nothing to cry for – because crying was only for emotions yet to be experienced – and he had no need for experience anymore. He would just start cleaning and putting away his destroyed works of art – of beauty and incandescently bright. They would end up not talking for days and Junhyung drinking so much (as in the past) that he would wake up plastered all over Doojoon’s couch or Gikwang’s floor – with velvety lipstick marks – berry, red, orange – drunken stumbling into friends’ house in the dead of the night with the spare keys always left in his pocket.

 

 

 

we set the air on fire between us

 

 

 

They would not say a word to each other, Junhyung left drowning his sorrows in cheap wine and beer and girls and and him anxiously waiting for Junhyung to come home and desperately hope that this is the last time they end up fighting to this extent (but there is always a next time) – waiting and sighing in relief when either Gikwang or Dongwoon or Yoseob or Doojoon blearily calls him to say that they found Junhyung draped all over the furniture  (and sometimes the concrete pavements) in all his clothes only reeking of alcohol in their houses. Sometimes they wouldn’t call and he knows – he knows where Junhyung has been but he doesn’t want to broach the topic – he doesn’t want to know where Junhyung has been – he doesn’t want to know what Junhyung did – he doesn’t want the destroy what they have (despite Junhyung’s denials) – he wants to keep them – flaws and all – even if Junhyung ends up hurting him more than they ever did – because he loves Junhyung.

 

 

 

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black is simple yet it says so much

 

 

 

Most of the time he would disappear for days at end – travelling for shows, conventions, ceremonies – only to appear on national tv, fashion tv, style.com – both of them love fashion too much to ever let go of this first love – although he loves it to an extent that he made it his career (and first – second? – priority). Junhyung would be at the studio those days – without an immature whiny annoying sulking presence that distracted him from working out the perfect beats and finished to wrap up a song – for his dongsaengs – for his hyungs – for her – for him – for a couple thousand international fans that eagerly await his music – his blood and soul poured out into 3 minutes’ worth of pleasure and pain and sadness and hopes and dreams and depressions and him – all this to be saved into .mp3, .flv, .avi – to be enjoyed and commented and relatable – because despite everything Junhyung does, his muse will not desert him for long.

 

 

 

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he looked at me like i was crazy

 

 

 

He hates being called anything other than his name. Junhyung still calls him by baby or babe or lover or pretty or anything greasy he can think of. He calls Junhyung Joker, Jaesoon, Jun, Yong – he calls Junhyung anything he wants to because anything that comes out of his pretty pretty beautiful pink lips sounds good – ic – that Junhyung sometimes would secretly – shamefully – record – hoping to find the perfect harmony to complement his voice – sometimes he has to distort his voice – hoping that nobody that hears the song can actually hear his voice – but most of the time he deletes those soundtracks. Because Junhyung isn’t sure whether he wants anyone to listen to the sounds he makes – in bed, in the morning, when they both are in a good mood, when he wants something Junhyung can’t be bothered to get – because they all belong to Junhyung.

 

 

 

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I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

 

 

 

They never go out for dinner. Junhyung is afraid that someone might notice them – they both have too much to lose – Junhyung and his music, him and his fashion – but Junhyung knows that some of their friends in the fashion industry have an inkling of his own ual preferences – and even the rather elusive anonymous lover he has – and they pretend to not care – but they do and they desperately want to know – like dogs with tongues hanging out from their mouths – like animals in heat – they all want to know. Junhyung is afraid – despite what confidences – courages – he writes in his lyrics – what he says in his confessions – he is afraid – and has too much to lose.

 

 

 

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i would not mind being the winter that clings to your body so closely in the night

 

 

 

They sleep together – sometimes – reaching the boundary of rarely. They usually crash at the studio or atelier – both creative people whose personalities are too alike – crash – friction – they rub against each other and produce – not sparks – flames. Of anger, of passion, of drunken ing and creating. They have their own rooms and a huge bed in the master room. They sometimes end up in the king-sized bed, when both of them are in need of human company and warmth beside them. They have millions of blankets – most of them falling onto the carpet – leaving one of them shared over them – nobody steals the covers because Junhyung (in his sleep) likes to wrap his arms – drape his entire body –around his warm snoozing companion usually curled up into a ball – and there is always an excess of blankets anyways.

 

 

 

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what if our hearts can be connected by constellations?

 

 

 

They make each other presents when they feel like it. He would give Junhyung a drip-dyed tee or pressed, fitted trousers or a matching ensemble – once even a whole collection – whenever he felt like it. Junhyung would dedicate each and every word – track – album – when he was feeling particularly tired and drained – only to delete every single thanks that he wrote to him (telling him how much grateful Junhyung was – how beautiful he was in the mornings with his bed hair and stupid eyes – how much he meant to Junhyung). Instead Junhyung would commit everything to memory and express them in another way – in his lyrics – in his kisses – in his looks – ways that the other would always fail to notice.

 

 

 

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it’s usually the selfish people that are loved the most

 

 

 

He remembers everything Junhyung said. He remembers the pain that all the people he once loved brought upon him. He remembers that Junhyung is different – whatever he said or did would always have a reason behind, a story to tell – he doesn’t deserve Junhyung, with his rising talent and charismatic personality – everyone wants a piece of Junhyung – everyone is mentally married to the Joker – to Yong Junhyung – but he remembers that Junhyung likes being called Jaesoon whenever he tried being teasing and sweet and not broken – like Goo Hara – beautiful and cute cheeks and huge eyes Hara. So he makes it a point to remember all the important events that happened to Junhyung – the day Junhyung released his first second third fourth fifth sixth album – the day Junhyung celebrated a new year of his life – the day Junhyung’s parents got married – the day Junhyung’s parents were born (he always reminds Junhyung – marks huge red circles on his calenders, schedule books, PA’s daily monthly yearly itinerary – because he wants Junhyung’s parents to be less mad about one thing – or rather three important dates). He sends him gifts and cards and messages and tweets in celebration – nothing too personal in the SNS though.

 

But somehow Junhyung never reciprocates.

 

 

 

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everything i do is stitched with colour

 

 

 

Junhyung likes cussing – – because he thinks he’s cool when he curses – when he actually is a cute sweet naggy umma underneath all the tough exterior – his cute smiles, adorable nose, squinty eyes – they all make Junhyung Jaesoon and not Joker. The kids they would have would have cute fat cheeks and sparkling eyes and their parents’ appreciation for art and beauty and fashion and music. Sadly, the happier times are always outweighed by their fights and pasts and silences. There just isn’t much to say.

 

 

 

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you’ll always love me, won’t you?

 

 

 

Both of them always hurt. They fight and scream and break and drink and – always – never ending. He buries himself in Alexander Wang’s newest collection, Alexander McQueen’s archives, Comme des Garcons’ ready-to-wear – because he always feels safest with clothes – because they do not judge him or hurt him – they mold to him, protect him from all the hurt silences and suffering that Junhyung always unknowingly – unwittingly – inflict on him. Junhyung just drowns in beats and flows and his Joker persona where he’s not hurt and is cool and is at the top of the world with the Lamborghini and Porsche racecars and Louis Vuitton jewelry and Rolex watches and champagne and shoes and bags and unknown unending wealth. Because they’re too alike and they don’t know how to deal.

 

 

 

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Memories are what warm you up from the inside. But they’re also what tear you apart.

 

 

 

Junhyung was drunk. At a club. Aboard a yatch. Or was it a cruise? Or Marc Jacobs’ after party? Or was it his party? He can’t remember. Then again, the Joker’s life revolves around being inebriated and hangovers and one-night stands – beautiful people around his – worshipping and slaving and ing – there are too many faces, bodies, legs, hair – he can’t remember anyways. Maybe he’s already immune to walking perfection. He was no exception. He was a one-night stand that turned into occasional buddies who now lived together. Nothing more, nothing less – other than dedicating the Joker’s music to him, inspiring his art, making him breakfast, working together, sleeping in the same bed, – they were nothing.

 

 

 

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don’t feel sorry for yourself. only s do that

 

 

 

Junhyung made the first move. He was too busy mending his broken – shattered – missing – heart to do anything with Junhyung. The ing famous Yong Junhyung pressed a teasing touch to his lips – it wasn’t even a kiss, just touching of lips – and crooked the left side of his mouth, beckoning him to come, to enjoy a night after his most successful show that look the whole world by storm and set trends for the next seasons again. He was intoxicated by the dim lights and sultry come-hither looks, the soft longue music – jazzy blues – the attention from the talented producer. Sometimes he regrets that night – but his next collection would then never be born. And he would never have healed.

 

 

 

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i think a lot but i don’t say much

 

 

 

This time, he started the relationship (by starting he meant exchanging phone numbers and fixing the Joker’s collar – he can’t stand ugly, sloppy buttoning and creases). He responded to the witty messages the Joker sent, and stupid emoticons that Junhyung always put and finally the real face that lost – bewildered –  Jaesoon wore – it was times like this that he called Junhyung Jaesoon. They might not really work well as a couple, because he wasn’t boyfriend/husband material, and Junhyung was too afraid – but he would hold out a hope that one day – one day –Jaesoon – not Junhyung, not the Joker – would ever look into his eyes and say that he loved him.

 

 

 

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A brightness, a radiant emptiness that is simply what you are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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we loved with a love that was more than love

 

 

 

Junhyung finally stopped reading and writing and thinking. He had sat at the cold marble ground for quite some time, the cold slowly seeping into his pants – designed by him for occasions like this – thick enough to ward of the chills but thin enough to remind him that he could feel. It’s been hours since he arrived at this place – from the silently gently awakening sun to its slow, graceful demise – just exactly like Jang Hyunseung who came into his life, gradually seducing with snatches and snippets of the designs Junhyung lusted after and at last bought – to the occasional meet ups – to the not-quite relationship they once had – now gone, embers of their flame slowly put out – but the torch Junhyung always held for him would be forever burning bright.

 

 

 

 

Junhyung had loved him, always. Loved him, but with too much pride, with too much face, with too much conditions, too much of everything – that he drove Hyunseung to this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Buried six feet under the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it was too late, but Yong Jaesoon, 24, finally – finally – for the first and last time – mouthed the words Jang Hyunseung, 25, had always wanted to hear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love you, unconditionally, without pride.

 

 

 

 

 

Hyunseung was always a sentimental fool like that.