Work Text:
Seoul nights locked under the rain, countless lights spreading.
I will never be the same. Coruscating kaleidoscope of lights flashing through my head, there’s a scream and a crash and someone playing the saxophone. There’s the garbled accent of Steven Fry on low definition YouTube documentaries and jumbled discordance of whispered I love yous all over.
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Just breathe in and out.
In and out.
In.
There will never be an out.
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I’m standing in the rain. Let’s just inscribe our memories onto the hearts of those who love us, those we just want to remember. It’s enough.
Eren was dead. Eren was dead.
Is it pain or is it shame?
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Eren, with his innocent pupils and cocksucking lips. Me, with my sharp gaze and acrid tongue and biting words. I would suck sharply onto his neck, blow little kisses into his ear, place little love bites down his spine. I would count each vertebra. Super, inferior. Cervical, thoracic, lumbar, sacral, coccygeal. He would reply with C1, C7. T1, T12. L1, L5. S1, S5.
And then whisper, like it was a little secret that only we shared, tailbone.
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He would complain about Edison and his douchebaggery – and I would soothe him with little anecdotes of Tesla and Faraday and Feynman. I would quote Michio Kaku and he would effortlessly rebuke me with James Simons. He was used to sparring with me.
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I’ll burn you with flames.
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We dated briefly once, in high school – when he struggling with nucleophilic substitution mechanisms and I was a little too in love with boys – boys with fresh faces and dark eyes, charming with hints of unsatisfied sexual repression. He was overly brash and spirited, always ready to defend anyone’s honour – especially the silent girl with expressionless face and unwavering attachment and loyalty – the androgynous cherub with hair like spun gold and a personality unassuming as a brilliant sidekick.
He would concentrate on his notes for a while, and then fall into a dreamy state with eyes heavily hooded with pleasure that only he was welcome to. I remember being jealous and rather repressed; confliction and lust my only companions.
I asked him out, regretting once the words left my mouth. He said yes, with the curiosity boys felt when experience with the other gender was limited and foreign. I pressed a kiss gently to the side of his mouth, my breath hot and heavy and smelling of cigarettes and drunken nights. I trailed down to his neck, collarbone, larynx – swirling my tongue over the dips and tasting goosebumps.
And then I blew him.
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He shot himself. I didn’t mean to fuck anyone else. I didn’t mean to get married. I didn’t mean to lay a hand on him when I was his teacher and he my student.
But I did and I killed him the moment our lips touched.
I was just tangled up in blue.