random thoughts of the morning: while i 100% think alec lightwood is a hufflepuff, i find it so interesting that the divide for him is slytherin/hufflepuff, bc those are seemingly two very different houses
but then again, the more you think about it, the more similarities pop up and idk, hogwarts houses are one of my favorite topics of conversation
12 mins later. “And I told him get the fuck out of my place before my roommate comes home! He covered his ass with one of my magazines and ended up running out so fast!” I was laughing so hard. He told some hilarious stories. We looked over and noticed a couple customers fuming. “Oh uh, I’ll see you around Lupe. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” “Eh yeah, okay bye Hana! Stop by again!” I grinned and walked off.
“galaxies,” taehyung tells him, smiles wide open earthy tones into the side of namjoon’s neck, and adds, “mine.”
on the abandoned asphalt of an old parking lot, they counted artificial lamps in place of the stars. on a beach with a fire and five other boys, they connected stars like dots like notes like a song. on the side of a police car, they count each other.
that’s namjoon, namjoon’s hand against his cheek, namjoon’s smile in his morning after the slow slow night. in another life taehyung would kiss him.
but it’s this life, so taehyung just smiles back, rubs at phantom blood on his own hands and says nothing at all.
namjoon belongs to taehyung the way people are only capable of one-on-one; because to someone else surely kim namjoon is something entirely different, but to taehyung he belongs like this: reckless honesty tinged with fear, humility like chains, love a dog’s love – unconditional but not always the same language. sky love. he has this urge to frame namjoon’s face with his hands, so he does one night, rubs their noses together and kisses one eyebrow because that’s a kiss but it’s not a Kiss and it’s still alright.
the way namjoon watches him when he turns away suggests a Kiss would also have been alright, but taehyung never really sees that.
what they have is fragile. strong. forever. temporary. young. young. young.
sometimes taehyung sees jungkook in his peripheral vision, bleeding down the side of his face, bruises likely all over his body, sees jungkook and sees a street ghost named min yoongi thread moon fingers in jungkook’s night hair, sees him try to do damage control even while he may very well be some of that damage. sometimes taehyung sees jung hoseok staring into the fire the dark the blue sky like it’s all the same, sees park jimin and his small stubborn hands tugging on hoseok’s shirttail or his scarf or his hand saying: stay with me. sometimes taehyung sees seokjin with his pink camera like he’s trying to remember things that have not happened yet, trying to make them permanent before it’s too late.
but most of the time taehyung sees –
– long legs and arms, long dream, shivering heart, words that mean other words that mean non-words; those words not suited for letters but confined to them anyways: here, nowhere, everywhere, anywhere, somewhere.
if taehyung drew a map it would have himself, namjoon, and the distance between them.
but one would have to fold it perfectly to see what he means.
* * *
the railroad is familiar. taehyung doesn’t know why. maybe it’s the direction the train is trying to go.
leaning back, the sun runs fingertips along his face as an extension of the clear sky and he hears a voice almost.
“wake up.” it says.
when he opens his eyes he thinks: i am awake.
but part of him hums under the train sound, under the swing of a rusted golf club, under muscle memory and asks him:
are you really?
behind namjoon’s eyes there are often stars, distant galaxies in purple tones suggestive of home. he’s trying to remember why he’s doing what he’s doing, why he does anything. he’s trying to get somewhere nowhere everywhere anywhere here –
– a bus stop where the words ‘I’M FINE’ seem to be saying something else.
there is someone taehyung wants to save. sometimes this person is a girl. she has red in her hair and it reminds taehyung of the green he once had in his, the way someone important used to run their fingers through it and giggle-laugh at the way it caught any given light.
sometimes the person he is trying to save isn’t there, has no shape, but he knows he must help; so, he paints words trying to get closer to them before it’s too late.
other times, that person might be himself. he doesn’t know. isn’t sure. can’t really know.
'SAVE ME’ is something he swears he’s supposed to understand though.
something he’s supposed to be capable of doing.
“when you talk to me about me it doesn’t feel like it’s me.”
“what are you saying?”
“you make me sound…”
you make me feel–
between train sounds and sky silences, taehyung can’t quite remember the face but he reaches a hand out as if he could hold the other and says to his aloneness:
“well. you are.”
in the middle of another aloneness, a phone booth rings and cannot stop. a young man goes back and forth trying to answer.
but time is the worst of islands.
sometimes namjoon sees a picture of the beach and stops for a long while, will pick it up and never mind the photoshopped perfection of certain colors and dancing lights. it’s not the water itself so much as the shore where seven shadows might belong. he supposes he was one of them, thinks he must have been to almost remember them as such. if he stares long enough sometimes he can hear a warm laugh in his ear, low at-home tones saying,
“i love it.”
meaning: this, this,
taehyung punched someone once. twice. many times. he thinks he remembers it was not always an enemy; he thinks he remembers one of these times it was simply a mistake.
for some reason, those fights sound a little like the ocean.
namjoon goes to the same bus stop many times, walks a city that is suspiciously empty, feels more like a human heart than a town. he kicks debris and runs his callused fingertips along graffiti that doesn’t belong to him and almost remembers all the time but almost is only almost.
on the edge of remembering, a boy on a bus passes a boy on a train; perpendicularity gone parallel, aching to return.
and it’s not true what they say, things like 'i didn’t have time to think’ or 'if it was really important, i’d remember’.
what’s really important sometimes gets forgotten because it has to be; but it’s there, underneath all that forgetting, the unused time where thinking is just the same as breathing, feeling things without explanation.
why should, after all, the sound of the sea make a boy so damnably sad?
why should the smell of alcohol turn him seventeen and reckless.
why should a book about distant stars make him…hurt?
why does he keep getting on the same bus?
“galaxies,” namjoon echoes back, curls his long fingers at taehyung’s nape gentle gentle gentle and as taehyung says 'mine’, his voice overlaps with, “yours.”