only if I remember
only if I remember
Xiumin/Chen; PG-13; AU
Minseok doesn't understand why Jongdae is being so quiet today.
A/N:
This is quite a failure. Something unedited that I wrote in about 20 minutes because I needed to write something and I didn't want to get started on something big. LOL.
I hope it's okay OTL
It was only after the room had fallen silent that Minseok scrambled back and away from the man seated on the couch before him in an attempt to escape from Jongdae’s judging glare.
He stumbled into the kitchen and ran his bruised hands under the steady stream of crystal clear water, sighing in relief as the warm temperatures soothed his sore hands.
The silence was thick, in a way that made Minseok think that the air was being sucked from the room, and the atmosphere was strange in ways that he couldn’t comprehend. It was strange, the way that Jongdae continued to stay in the living room without a word of complaint. Normally, he would be strutting around the house, picking on every single thing that looked out of place. Sometimes, Minseok felt out of place in his own house. After all, if he had fit in properly, his boyfriend wouldn’t always be commenting on how imperfect he was.
It’s all right, Minseok thought. Everything will get better with a cup of tea. He waited in the kitchen, eyes fixed on the kettle.
A watched pot never boils, and Minseok felt that the water was taking a little longer than usual to start bubbling. A reflection on the shiny surface of the new kettle made him gasp and whirl around, but he saw no one behind him. Strange. He could’ve sworn that he had seen Jongdae leaning against the counter behind him, with an arrogant smile fixed on his face, one of the many permanent things in Minseok’s life.
As he stared hard at the empty spot where he had thought that Jongdae was, a shrill whistle startled him and he spun back around to see the kettle breaking the sacred silence that had settled over the household like a thick quilt in the summer.
He couldn’t decide whether he liked it or not. The silence that blanketed him and comforted yet suffocated him at the same time. The lack of Jongdae’s loud complaints and laughter that constantly polluted the air in the apartment. The fact that Minseok was able to carry out the simple task of boiling water without being criticized was a haunting miracle in itself. Perhaps it was because he was too used to the sounds of screaming and twisted chuckles that escaped from Jongdae. Or was it himself? Was it himself that was always screaming?
He couldn’t quite remember.
As he spooned the powdery tea into the two separate cups of boiled water, he began to think, in an almost absentmindedmanner, about what he had done earlier this morning. But he couldn’t quite recall what had happened either.
So as he stepped out into the living room, over the broken remains of the chair and past the upturned table, he shook his head. He simply couldn’t remember what it was that he had done this morning. Was he productive? Had he managed to finish writing that essay that he had worked on for hours last night?
Had Jongdae thrown a chair at him? Had he swung out wildly and knocked the table over? No, it can’t be. Jongdae was sometimes violent, but he was never this messy. He hated the house being messy. He liked things to be in a particular order.
In that case, had it been himself that had made this mess? Minseok didn’t remember throwing a tantrum and breaking any furniture, but that would explain Jongdae’s current anger at him. It would also explain the deep cut on his right arm that oozed blood and dripped quietly onto the floor. A whisper in the silence; a soft plink, plink, plink that made Minseok shiver. Surely Jongdae would be mad? He would have to clean up the red stains before Jongdae noticed, then.
He stared at the gouge in the wooden cabinet and the splinters that littered the floor; frozen in place, his hands steadily holding the tray in a way that made sure that not even the slightest tremor happened to send ripples across the serene surface of the cups of green tea. He didn’t remember the cabinet being damaged either.
His eyes slid to the dismembered chair to the right, the ends of a sharp limb matching the marks in the cabinet. He turned to the man sitting on the couch at the far end of the room and approached him timidly.
“I made tea,” he offered, holding out a porcelain cup towards Jongdae, placing it into his hands when he didn’t make a move to accept the drink. The cup slid out of his stiff grasp immediately and smashed into smithereens on the floor. Minseok stared at the mess on the floor in dismay. Now he would have more to clean up.
His gaze darted from the broken cup on the floor to Jongdae’s pale face. A fly hovered nearby and landed on the unsmiling man’s nose. Minseok reached out and shooed the housefly away, then set his own cup of tea on the coffee table and stood up.
“I’m going to get a new cup of tea for you.” Minseok informed him, before kissing Jongdae on the cheek and maneuvering his way towards the kitchen, stepping over piles of debris. How had the house gotten so chaotic anyway? He would have to clean up the entire place later.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a slim knife lying on the floor, the blade stained with a dull version of the red that oozed from Minseok’s arm. Minseok noticed pleasantly that it was the same lovely colour that Jongdae’s shirt was. He’d have to point it out later, he noted to himself, and continued to head towards the kitchen with an amused smile plastered on his face.
He’d deal with it later, Minseok thought as he stepped unknowingly on the trails of red liquid that had dripped from his arm earlier.
Maybe once he remembers.
Xiumin/Chen; PG-13; AU
Minseok doesn't understand why Jongdae is being so quiet today.
A/N:
This is quite a failure. Something unedited that I wrote in about 20 minutes because I needed to write something and I didn't want to get started on something big. LOL.
I hope it's okay OTL
It was only after the room had fallen silent that Minseok scrambled back and away from the man seated on the couch before him in an attempt to escape from Jongdae’s judging glare.
He stumbled into the kitchen and ran his bruised hands under the steady stream of crystal clear water, sighing in relief as the warm temperatures soothed his sore hands.
The silence was thick, in a way that made Minseok think that the air was being sucked from the room, and the atmosphere was strange in ways that he couldn’t comprehend. It was strange, the way that Jongdae continued to stay in the living room without a word of complaint. Normally, he would be strutting around the house, picking on every single thing that looked out of place. Sometimes, Minseok felt out of place in his own house. After all, if he had fit in properly, his boyfriend wouldn’t always be commenting on how imperfect he was.
It’s all right, Minseok thought. Everything will get better with a cup of tea. He waited in the kitchen, eyes fixed on the kettle.
A watched pot never boils, and Minseok felt that the water was taking a little longer than usual to start bubbling. A reflection on the shiny surface of the new kettle made him gasp and whirl around, but he saw no one behind him. Strange. He could’ve sworn that he had seen Jongdae leaning against the counter behind him, with an arrogant smile fixed on his face, one of the many permanent things in Minseok’s life.
As he stared hard at the empty spot where he had thought that Jongdae was, a shrill whistle startled him and he spun back around to see the kettle breaking the sacred silence that had settled over the household like a thick quilt in the summer.
He couldn’t decide whether he liked it or not. The silence that blanketed him and comforted yet suffocated him at the same time. The lack of Jongdae’s loud complaints and laughter that constantly polluted the air in the apartment. The fact that Minseok was able to carry out the simple task of boiling water without being criticized was a haunting miracle in itself. Perhaps it was because he was too used to the sounds of screaming and twisted chuckles that escaped from Jongdae. Or was it himself? Was it himself that was always screaming?
He couldn’t quite remember.
As he spooned the powdery tea into the two separate cups of boiled water, he began to think, in an almost absentmindedmanner, about what he had done earlier this morning. But he couldn’t quite recall what had happened either.
So as he stepped out into the living room, over the broken remains of the chair and past the upturned table, he shook his head. He simply couldn’t remember what it was that he had done this morning. Was he productive? Had he managed to finish writing that essay that he had worked on for hours last night?
Had Jongdae thrown a chair at him? Had he swung out wildly and knocked the table over? No, it can’t be. Jongdae was sometimes violent, but he was never this messy. He hated the house being messy. He liked things to be in a particular order.
In that case, had it been himself that had made this mess? Minseok didn’t remember throwing a tantrum and breaking any furniture, but that would explain Jongdae’s current anger at him. It would also explain the deep cut on his right arm that oozed blood and dripped quietly onto the floor. A whisper in the silence; a soft plink, plink, plink that made Minseok shiver. Surely Jongdae would be mad? He would have to clean up the red stains before Jongdae noticed, then.
He stared at the gouge in the wooden cabinet and the splinters that littered the floor; frozen in place, his hands steadily holding the tray in a way that made sure that not even the slightest tremor happened to send ripples across the serene surface of the cups of green tea. He didn’t remember the cabinet being damaged either.
His eyes slid to the dismembered chair to the right, the ends of a sharp limb matching the marks in the cabinet. He turned to the man sitting on the couch at the far end of the room and approached him timidly.
“I made tea,” he offered, holding out a porcelain cup towards Jongdae, placing it into his hands when he didn’t make a move to accept the drink. The cup slid out of his stiff grasp immediately and smashed into smithereens on the floor. Minseok stared at the mess on the floor in dismay. Now he would have more to clean up.
His gaze darted from the broken cup on the floor to Jongdae’s pale face. A fly hovered nearby and landed on the unsmiling man’s nose. Minseok reached out and shooed the housefly away, then set his own cup of tea on the coffee table and stood up.
“I’m going to get a new cup of tea for you.” Minseok informed him, before kissing Jongdae on the cheek and maneuvering his way towards the kitchen, stepping over piles of debris. How had the house gotten so chaotic anyway? He would have to clean up the entire place later.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a slim knife lying on the floor, the blade stained with a dull version of the red that oozed from Minseok’s arm. Minseok noticed pleasantly that it was the same lovely colour that Jongdae’s shirt was. He’d have to point it out later, he noted to himself, and continued to head towards the kitchen with an amused smile plastered on his face.
He’d deal with it later, Minseok thought as he stepped unknowingly on the trails of red liquid that had dripped from his arm earlier.
Maybe once he remembers.