Good Enough
Title: Good Enough
Author: anoukinparis
Pairing: Dooseob (Doojoon/Yoseob)
Genre: Fluff
Rating: PG
Length: Oneshot
Summary: He watched flecks of confetti settle in Dongwoon’s hair, he watched Kikwang swallowing it all down as best as he could, watched the crowd of fans become a pretty blur, like some watercolor painting, and god, it wasn’t working at all.
A/N: first beast fic i've ever attempted /nervousnervous. probably seems so out of the blue, but i love these boys sfm and their mnet win made me cry and i haven't written fluff in forever and i love me some cute dooseob okay :'D
Doojoon had imagined this a grand total of one time. It came when he was digging the bottom of his cereal bowl with a spoon, half-asleep, nodding along but not really paying attention to the lyrics Yoseob hummed beside him. Familiar lyrics. Good lyrics. Their lyrics. Maybe, he had thought indulgently, before the drowsiness quickened into waking up the members one by one, tugging fondly on shoulders, pulling off bright, polka dotted comforters he still sighed over. Maybe, he allowed himself to muse before reality checked in. Maybe we could be good enough.
But this - this feeling - he could have never prepared for. Everything was suddenly thrust on them. The win was there, tangible and real in Yoseob’s grasp, and he kept looking back at the trophy with the same stunned disbelief, laughing to himself to keep from crying. It didn’t work.
He watched flecks of confetti settle in Dongwoon’s hair, he watched Kikwang swallowing it all down as best as he could, watched the crowd of fans become a pretty blur, like some watercolor painting, and god, it wasn’t working at all.
All of the sudden he wanted scream. He wanted to call his mom. He wanted to run down the street and rub all his makeup off furiously and hold that head of blond hair captive so he could plant a really unnecessary kiss in it, all with the same stupid grin he felt wasn’t subsiding at all. But before he could think of doing any of those things, he was being pushed backstage with the rest of them.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Hyunseung kept muttering to himself, and before Doojoon could comfort him Junhyung surprisingly got there first, his face all damp, exhausted with emotion. Doojoon curled his hand back, not sure if he was more disappointed or relieved. No, it was relief. Because another urge was coming now - he wanted to be selfish, he wanted to be alone.
Still couldn’t stop crying. It was frustrating, embarrassing, how much there seemed to be. How much there seemed to be inside of him. Doojoon closed his fists into his eyes as he walked, telling whoever it was that was next to him, he couldn’t remember which member, that he needed to go to the bathroom, be right back, wouldn’t take long, no, no, he was fine.
His eyeliner was a mess in the mirror. Not surprised. Slowly, he sunk his forearms down against cool marble, forcing himself to take long breaths in the shallow sink, anything to get it back together before the cameras came backstage to watch their every reaction, every shudder. Even if it took a few minutes, long enough for the door to open and for another pair of footsteps to echo along the tiled walls.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” came the same voice that hummed songs that morning. He might as well have come in with a You’re hiding in a bathroom right now, so don’t even try telling me you’re fine.
“Of course you did,” Doojoon laughed good-naturedly, but the sound was still shaky, obvious. Leaning back to his full height, he glanced Yoseob over, falling back into the position he was used to. “You should go get changed with everyone.”
Yoseob just shook his head the way he did when Doojoon knew he was serious about something. Stubborn serious, the worst. Doojoon couldn’t just laugh it off. And after a pause, he finally rushed out, “So yeah, maybe I did come to interrupt. But good thing I did. I mean, look at you.”
“I know, this face…” Another self-deprecating glance at the smudged black along his eyes, the streaks against his cheeks.
“Hey. I like that face.”
“One of your favorites.”
“Don’t push it - but yes, absolutely.”
Yoseob was fishing for a smile, and he got one. He was also fishing for the okay to step forward and move closer, which was pointless, since he usually got what he wanted anyway. They both knew it. Of all the weaknesses Doojoon had, the other sat pretty high on that list, and yes, the others teased the way they shared food and cracked up at each other’s impersonations, and yes, he’d probably do the same in their shoes. But no, he didn’t shake his head when Yoseob opened up his arms and pulled his stiff limbs into him, because he knew he had wanted the other to reach out anyway.
“You didn’t think we could pull it off,” Yoseob hedged softly after Doojoon buried that likable face away into the other’s stage clothes. “I don’t think any of us did.”
Doojoon thought to that morning again, and his hold tightened, needing Yooseob to believe the “No” that automatically left his lips.
“That’s not why…of course I was surprised, but…”
But he didn’t know how to explain that morning. How proud, ridiculously proud he was. How guilty he felt that he was clinging on to someone in the men’s restroom and not congratulating everyone like a proper leader would do. How much the award meant to him. Without any hesitation Yoseob gently removed one of Doojoon’s hands from his waist and plopped it down on top of his head instead, no-nonsense, fingers automatically bedding into blond hair.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know.” And the strange part was that Doojoon believed he really did know, believed this kid patting his back encouragingly as his fingers started piecing through the other’s hair, a familiar game - good, theirs - a deal more calm than he had been ten minutes ago, neck deep in the sink. He was, that is, until they finally drew apart, Yoseob shrugging an unruly shoulder and grinning one of those breezy grins.
“We’ve always been good enough.”
He brought it upon himself, really. Should have known what he got himself into, following Doojoon, putting back the pieces so he could feel like himself again. Like anyone else would have the stupid urge to give him a headlock and hold him steady until lips met his hair in a celebratory kiss, intentionally long, warm all the way down to his toes, shoes scuffling and the shouts of curses and laughter and everything but a maybe, those distant, irrelevant maybes.
Author: anoukinparis
Pairing: Dooseob (Doojoon/Yoseob)
Genre: Fluff
Rating: PG
Length: Oneshot
Summary: He watched flecks of confetti settle in Dongwoon’s hair, he watched Kikwang swallowing it all down as best as he could, watched the crowd of fans become a pretty blur, like some watercolor painting, and god, it wasn’t working at all.
A/N: first beast fic i've ever attempted /nervousnervous. probably seems so out of the blue, but i love these boys sfm and their mnet win made me cry and i haven't written fluff in forever and i love me some cute dooseob okay :'D
Doojoon had imagined this a grand total of one time. It came when he was digging the bottom of his cereal bowl with a spoon, half-asleep, nodding along but not really paying attention to the lyrics Yoseob hummed beside him. Familiar lyrics. Good lyrics. Their lyrics. Maybe, he had thought indulgently, before the drowsiness quickened into waking up the members one by one, tugging fondly on shoulders, pulling off bright, polka dotted comforters he still sighed over. Maybe, he allowed himself to muse before reality checked in. Maybe we could be good enough.
But this - this feeling - he could have never prepared for. Everything was suddenly thrust on them. The win was there, tangible and real in Yoseob’s grasp, and he kept looking back at the trophy with the same stunned disbelief, laughing to himself to keep from crying. It didn’t work.
He watched flecks of confetti settle in Dongwoon’s hair, he watched Kikwang swallowing it all down as best as he could, watched the crowd of fans become a pretty blur, like some watercolor painting, and god, it wasn’t working at all.
All of the sudden he wanted scream. He wanted to call his mom. He wanted to run down the street and rub all his makeup off furiously and hold that head of blond hair captive so he could plant a really unnecessary kiss in it, all with the same stupid grin he felt wasn’t subsiding at all. But before he could think of doing any of those things, he was being pushed backstage with the rest of them.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Hyunseung kept muttering to himself, and before Doojoon could comfort him Junhyung surprisingly got there first, his face all damp, exhausted with emotion. Doojoon curled his hand back, not sure if he was more disappointed or relieved. No, it was relief. Because another urge was coming now - he wanted to be selfish, he wanted to be alone.
Still couldn’t stop crying. It was frustrating, embarrassing, how much there seemed to be. How much there seemed to be inside of him. Doojoon closed his fists into his eyes as he walked, telling whoever it was that was next to him, he couldn’t remember which member, that he needed to go to the bathroom, be right back, wouldn’t take long, no, no, he was fine.
His eyeliner was a mess in the mirror. Not surprised. Slowly, he sunk his forearms down against cool marble, forcing himself to take long breaths in the shallow sink, anything to get it back together before the cameras came backstage to watch their every reaction, every shudder. Even if it took a few minutes, long enough for the door to open and for another pair of footsteps to echo along the tiled walls.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” came the same voice that hummed songs that morning. He might as well have come in with a You’re hiding in a bathroom right now, so don’t even try telling me you’re fine.
“Of course you did,” Doojoon laughed good-naturedly, but the sound was still shaky, obvious. Leaning back to his full height, he glanced Yoseob over, falling back into the position he was used to. “You should go get changed with everyone.”
Yoseob just shook his head the way he did when Doojoon knew he was serious about something. Stubborn serious, the worst. Doojoon couldn’t just laugh it off. And after a pause, he finally rushed out, “So yeah, maybe I did come to interrupt. But good thing I did. I mean, look at you.”
“I know, this face…” Another self-deprecating glance at the smudged black along his eyes, the streaks against his cheeks.
“Hey. I like that face.”
“One of your favorites.”
“Don’t push it - but yes, absolutely.”
Yoseob was fishing for a smile, and he got one. He was also fishing for the okay to step forward and move closer, which was pointless, since he usually got what he wanted anyway. They both knew it. Of all the weaknesses Doojoon had, the other sat pretty high on that list, and yes, the others teased the way they shared food and cracked up at each other’s impersonations, and yes, he’d probably do the same in their shoes. But no, he didn’t shake his head when Yoseob opened up his arms and pulled his stiff limbs into him, because he knew he had wanted the other to reach out anyway.
“You didn’t think we could pull it off,” Yoseob hedged softly after Doojoon buried that likable face away into the other’s stage clothes. “I don’t think any of us did.”
Doojoon thought to that morning again, and his hold tightened, needing Yooseob to believe the “No” that automatically left his lips.
“That’s not why…of course I was surprised, but…”
But he didn’t know how to explain that morning. How proud, ridiculously proud he was. How guilty he felt that he was clinging on to someone in the men’s restroom and not congratulating everyone like a proper leader would do. How much the award meant to him. Without any hesitation Yoseob gently removed one of Doojoon’s hands from his waist and plopped it down on top of his head instead, no-nonsense, fingers automatically bedding into blond hair.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know.” And the strange part was that Doojoon believed he really did know, believed this kid patting his back encouragingly as his fingers started piecing through the other’s hair, a familiar game - good, theirs - a deal more calm than he had been ten minutes ago, neck deep in the sink. He was, that is, until they finally drew apart, Yoseob shrugging an unruly shoulder and grinning one of those breezy grins.
“We’ve always been good enough.”
He brought it upon himself, really. Should have known what he got himself into, following Doojoon, putting back the pieces so he could feel like himself again. Like anyone else would have the stupid urge to give him a headlock and hold him steady until lips met his hair in a celebratory kiss, intentionally long, warm all the way down to his toes, shoes scuffling and the shouts of curses and laughter and everything but a maybe, those distant, irrelevant maybes.