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09 September 2012 @ 06:20 pm
title: sundays
pairing(s): sekai
character(s): sehun, kai
genre: [AU] romance, tragedy
rating: PG-13

summary: every seventh day is limbo.

Side-by-side walks through the mall at lunch, that movie was due back to the rental store yesterday, don’t forget to take out the trash, soothing kisses pressed to pounding temples—every Monday Sehun relives the moments he can’t live in actuality anymore.

I hate Mondays, Jongin used to say. Sehun can’t remember ever having told Jongin that he disagrees. It’s too late to change his mind now.


I’m leaving on a business trip this weekend, says Jongin, concern evident in the way he glances at Sehun through the dresser mirror as he straightens his tie. On Saturday. But I’ll be back in four days.

“Where are you going?” Sehun asks as he tugs on a shirt and smoothes his hair while looking at his reflection over Jongin’s shoulder.

The coast, he replies with a guilty grin, trying to conceal his excitement. The weather’s great. I’ll get you a souvenir.

Sehun’s expression remains neutral. “Take me with you,” he demands, and perhaps some years earlier Jongin might have mistaken his request for a serious one.

Jongin runs a hand over his meticulously gelled hair one last time and bumps Sehun’s hip with his own gently before walking out of their bedroom. I’ll be back before you have a chance to miss me, I promise.

“It’s only Tuesday, you idiot, I have four days to miss you before you even leave,” Sehun calls after him. Jongin’s responding laugh cuts off with a click as he closes the door behind himself.

Four days and a lifetime— Tuesdays suffocate Sehun four days and a lifetime too early.


A staccato beat shakes the floorboards beneath Sehun’s feet. Fluidity is personified by the then-unfamiliar silhouette whose presence pervades the room, floods his senses, a perfect stranger transformed by the studio’s mirrors until he is infinity. When the thunder sounds outside, it roars to the stranger’s rhythm.

Then the music stops, and the dancer is human again, grinning with exhaustion as he introduces himself.

I’m Kim Jongin, he says, and starting this week I’ll be here every Wednesday. I hope you don’t mind me being here when you are; I just don’t have time to dance any other day. What’s your name?

The hand he extends for Sehun to shake is the same hand he had used to brush his sweaty bangs from his forehead, but Sehun does not hesitate for a moment before taking it. “Oh Sehun,” he replies, “and of course I don’t mind, not at all.”

Sehun is a little in love with Wednesday and a little in love with dance, but mostly he loves Jongin.


I don’t understand you, Oh Sehun. The gray Thursday sky spreads overhead without end, chilling autumn wind doing nothing to change the dreary, flat cloudscape. When you look at me like that, what is that supposed to mean? When you hold me at arm’s length and keep me there, are you afraid of me getting closer or leaving?

“Not everybody speaks through motion, Jongin. Even if you can’t speak as well as you can dance, can you try to listen as well as you can watch?”

Jongin freezes because he is proud but he is also in love. I’ll try, he says eventually and takes Sehun’s hand in his, squeezing finger by finger, sending a ripple of warmth straight through Sehun’s entire body that melts the cold even as he inhales it.

Countless (but not enough, never enough) Thursdays later, Jongin traces Sehun’s favorite words on his pale back and recites aloud, ‘Stupid’ is partially for me and partially for you, when you can’t stand me and can’t stand yourself being able to stand me. ‘Sorry’ is for when you’re not sorry, ‘fuck’ is for when you are. ‘Maybe’ is you trying to convince yourself that at least one of us can resist the other; ‘fuck’ happens to be the word you use when you realize that you can’t. He tilts his head to shoot Sehun a boyish grin. A really useful word for you, ‘fuck,’ because it’s also—

Sehun rolls over and pins Jongin down beneath him, deciding that the latter’s mouth is much better at communicating wordlessly.

But Thursday is a word spoken into silence, meaningless for want of interpretation. Sehun wonders if he himself has begun to lose meaning, as well, now that nobody is left to define him.


Friday is too much alcohol, heated whispers, a catalyst. Trying to rationalize but drawing a blank, Jongin’s smirk against Sehun’s eager lips just like how the latter had imagined it, only better, infinitely better in its reality—

Sehun does not care much for Fridays anymore.


Jongin becomes a casualty on a Saturday. Headlines, breaking news, just one of two hundred and eighty-seven, 6:12 a.m. on a sunny morning, combustion, leaks, 1.7 billion won in material damages alone, fourth-degree burns, Mr. Oh Sehun? May we speak with you for a moment?

The first time Sehun had ever woken up to Jongin’s face had been on a calm Saturday morning, in Jongin’s bed at 8:52 a.m. He had stared for a good ten minutes before the other had stirred from his sleep.

Saturday, Sehun startles from his gradual drooping in the stiff, plastic chair to the doctor’s detached voice— friend, he says, friend. Just friends, Jongin had told him once, also on a Saturday, but that was back then, so long ago, and hadn’t lasted for long. Momentarily expelled by Sehun’s mind, the doctor’s words seep into all of his Saturdays instead.

“—regret to—”

Have you ever regretted us, Sehun? I haven’t. I might regret some of the things that happened between us, but you’ve always been exactly what I wanted.

“—despite our best efforts—”

I’m sorry it’s always been you trying so hard, but I am too, I promise. I’ll give it my everything now because before you, I had nothing.

“—could not—”

Sehun, stop it—a breathless chuckle, dark, hooded eyes—you know that’s not fair, I can’t say no to you.

“—your friend.”

Please, give me one more chance and forget what I said about being friends. I was cowardly, running away from you, myself, I couldn’t admit that

I love you, Sehun.

“…Mr. Oh Sehun? Are you—”

Don’t say my name if you can’t say it in his voice, Sehun says, or maybe he doesn’t. Cold tiles, shouting, tipping forward into an abyss of numbness. Saturdays, Sehun remembers.


No matter how many calendars I see, I can’t think of Sundays as the start of a new week, Jongin muses, swirling his milk in its half-filled glass as if it were brandy in a crystal tumbler.

“So they’re like the end of the week to you?” Sehun asks as he prods a sizzling pancake with his spatula and nods slowly in agreement. “Sometimes I feel that way, too.”

Jongin shrugs. Sure, I guess. Or really they don’t feel like a part of the week at all. Limbo.

Sehun raises an eyebrow, amused. “Are you sure you don’t just dislike Sundays because you have to go to work the next day?”

I don’t know. I just think weekends are weird, he replies, slight frown relaxing as he slips toned arms around Sehun’s slim waist. Sundays in particular, but I guess I don’t mind. I get to spend all my Sundays with you.

Sehun’s Sundays are staring alone at painfully sterile hospital walls, denial frosting his lungs and forcing upon him consciousness of every breath he takes. They are the bitter regret prickling painfully at his eyes as he wills the seconds, minutes, hours, days to rewind just so he can pull Jongin closer to him instead of playfully shoving him away, and they are everything Jongin has ever promised him, every last one of Sehun’s heartbeats that goes unmatched by Jongin’s.

On Sundays, Sehun allows himself to mourn.

a/n: for amy's request on my fic blog. as always, loads of love for der loveliest beta allriseasian who ensures that the fic i write doesn't end up reading like the insane nonsense that it originally was \o/
flarglnomnom: LOLOL AMY U MAD?flarglnomnom on September 10th, 2012 01:24 am (UTC)
(this is ur spot in case u wer confuse look at my lickable icon just 4 u)
flarglnomnom: body heartflarglnomnom on September 10th, 2012 01:26 am (UTC)
wendyyyyyy going to spot you because you are the greatest beta anybody could ask for wow and also i don't want to run the risk of you being anger at me if i don't ♥♥♥♥♥
allriseasian: what do you mean eunhae isn't realallriseasian on September 11th, 2012 01:49 am (UTC)
ew u give me feels no me gusta :'(
sundays are a total suspension tho like ew
get online
and I'm never angerchanz at u water u talkin about delusional bb
flarglnomnomflarglnomnom on September 11th, 2012 04:17 am (UTC)
fucking hate sundays tbh they are the bane of my existence
IM SRRY i had to listen to my choir director talk for an hour and a half it was
right you just threaten to break up with me <////3 why