disclaimer: no, I don't own them.
A/N: This time it's weird.
Ok, to make it clear once again -> English isn't my native language so possible mistakes here and there. I wrote this fic a long time ago
It’s a matter of a moment when the fairytales we were told during childhood die. Good doesn’t always win over evil, the humiliated aren’t necessarily rewarded, bullies don’t go to hell. And it’s actually nothing of a surprise, we realize sooner or later. It's just the way it is, at least it seems so.
He could never tell, like anyone else, when an another charming story would get shattered, despite how deeply-rooted it was. It got even worse when colours disappeared along with the fairytales.
He found out it was much better although quite hard in the armour of sarcasm and arrogance.
It was safer not to trust anything and anyone too easily since the field of vision got narrowed and one could forget about amortizing falls. It hurt even more than anyone could tell. No matter if it was for the first or the hundredth time.
The world became monochrome. Not boring in obvious in its form, though. Sometimes it had that rough, silver shade or it was deep, almost embracing. It could also come shyly into green, green like hope but there were days when it was empty and weary. It would force him to lean his back, close his eyes and grit. Like a spider’s web it would glue to him.
He had no other choice than just to tame the greyness, recognize and name each of its shades. Get used to, just get used to it.
And he thought he heard once when the armour broke, letting the colours in.
He couldn’t believe in what he saw and felt, thinking it was another delusion, a fairytale he hadn’t forgot. Or one of those which would come back with surprising stubbornness.
Colours appeared in the cracks of metal, colours which he could remember against his will and name, somehow.
Even if he didn’t understand why, in the eyes staring at him he found the reflection of his own, as shining as the other’s ones.
Finally, their fingertips met, seeping the curtain of astonishment and uncertainty. Their hands gravitated cagily and timidly towards each other, climbing upper or going lower. Everything came into reality, slightly painful yet, absolutely perfect. He let himself get carried away with traces on his skin and lost his mind in never ending paths of kisses. Hot breaths were synchronized with their pulses as they moved faster and faster, and less shyly with every gasp.
Hangeng smelled like oblivion and tasted like everything Heechul had been missing so. He was falling hard, not being able to cut off the thread of growing addiction. He didn’t want to, it saved him, after all.
Pounding of Hangeng’s heart was so loud and his hands were so soft that Heechul couldn’t help but listen to the vowels falling bravely from the other’s lips. They helped him to get out of the monochrome labyrinth even if he wasn't able to fully understand them.
He kept collecting those words and making use of invitations which made everything come together.
It didn't take long to destroy the armour with the risk of whispered ‘Wo ai ni’ echoed with equally shy ‘Saranghae’.
It was ridiculous that monochrome walls had hidden so much brightness. Ridiculous or miraculous, he thought.
– Stop yelling, Heenim. It’s already done –
Hangeng put a plate in front of Heechul and sat down on the opposite side. They started eating in silence, only smiling to each other. Hangeng complained he had overdone with spices but Heechul kept swallowing one bite after another, regardless its taste. He wanted to believe it would be like that forever, better than in any fairytale. He still wasn’t keen on them, no matter what it seemed.
I hope it makes sense... somehow? Next time I'll post finally something with other pairing than Hanchul, I swear ;DDDD And it'll be better than this one.