it's the same with words. thank you - for the times when the days have gone on for too long and there's a dead body one room over, the all-too-undeniable proof of cost that survival demands. thank you - for the days when the sky changes color, imitating the turmoil of the land, though it can never truly reflect the ink-black of dried blood across the mouth, across the knuckles.
thank you - for when your dying becomes the only way everyone else gets to live (again, and again, and again).
eunhyuk lived and died never hearing it once.
he makes a point to say it, now that he can. ]
Okay, he agrees, and that's that.
[ he sets his glass down, takes hers too, takes the bottles and sets them a safe distance away from their little huddle, and he holds her for long, steady heartbeats while the wind whips around them, daring them to find shelter from it. they don't go yet. they stay, and they breathe together, and eunhyuk dares to kiss daisy on the neck.
[ he deserves to hear those words himself. he deserves so many things he'll never get because the world isn't fair to people like them. they struggle through the worst pain imaginable so that others won't have to and they never complain about it. they place these burdens upon themselves because why not them? deep down, some part of them thinks they deserve it, even as others tell them they don't.
but she'll tell him. she'll make sure he knows that he's a good man who deserves good things. it may not be with words but she'll make him understand... somehow.
daisy doesn't expect that kiss. for a fleeting moment, she wonders if she imagined it, if her heart is making her mind believe things out of the desperate loneliness that has long sunk its claws into her chest. but his warmth is there, his steady vibration there against her skin, and she forgets how to breathe.
(home has always been a person for daisy johnson. she's been without one for so long; her treacherous heart wonders if she's finally found it again.)
hours pass in seconds before she can do anything. leaning just far enough to the side to be able to turn her head and look at him, her eyes watch his for only a moment before falling to his lips... and then there's no stopping it. those inches between them are crossed so she can press her lips to his, just sensitive skin brushing sensitive skin, a question in response to his invitation. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
"yeet", as they say (i also need to make icons that don't imply INCEST)
it's the same with words. thank you - for the times when the days have gone on for too long and there's a dead body one room over, the all-too-undeniable proof of cost that survival demands. thank you - for the days when the sky changes color, imitating the turmoil of the land, though it can never truly reflect the ink-black of dried blood across the mouth, across the knuckles.
thank you - for when your dying becomes the only way everyone else gets to live (again, and again, and again).
eunhyuk lived and died never hearing it once.
he makes a point to say it, now that he can. ]
Okay, he agrees, and that's that.
[ he sets his glass down, takes hers too, takes the bottles and sets them a safe distance away from their little huddle, and he holds her for long, steady heartbeats while the wind whips around them, daring them to find shelter from it. they don't go yet. they stay, and they breathe together, and eunhyuk dares to kiss daisy on the neck.
(it feels a bit like coming home.) ]
oh damn, here we go (the icon struggle is real)
but she'll tell him. she'll make sure he knows that he's a good man who deserves good things. it may not be with words but she'll make him understand... somehow.
daisy doesn't expect that kiss. for a fleeting moment, she wonders if she imagined it, if her heart is making her mind believe things out of the desperate loneliness that has long sunk its claws into her chest. but his warmth is there, his steady vibration there against her skin, and she forgets how to breathe.
(home has always been a person for daisy johnson. she's been without one for so long; her treacherous heart wonders if she's finally found it again.)
hours pass in seconds before she can do anything. leaning just far enough to the side to be able to turn her head and look at him, her eyes watch his for only a moment before falling to his lips... and then there's no stopping it. those inches between them are crossed so she can press her lips to his, just sensitive skin brushing sensitive skin, a question in response to his invitation. ]