Oneshot: UPHOLSTERY OF OUR MAGNET HEARTS
Pairing: SeulongxJokwon
Rating: Gen
Warnings: toy world AU
UPHOLSTERY OF OUR MAGNET HEARTS
Taecyeon breaks Seulong's heart when they're one year old.
He doesn't do it on purpose though.
It's just that they're oiling their wheels and checking everything, and Seulong says: “Here, hold this for me”, hands Taec his heavy, fist-sized heart. But Taec's hand are slippery with oil.
He didn't do it on purpose.
The heart slips and falls, and Seulong's eyes go wide, seeing the quicksilver flash of the magnet. Then everything goes “babom” for him, and then “crack”, and his heart lays broken on the nondescript beige tiles of the workshop.
The Gorilla tries to fix it as best he can, but even Super Glue doesn't work, doesn't want to stick, and Seulong has two halves of a beating heart, pitch black at the split but still silverish around it. It smells like metal, too.
One of the bits is slightly smaller, and the Gorilla takes it carefully in his big fingers, sweeps the microscopic flecks of stone remaining, rubs it with soft sandpaper until the edges are blurred. Then he stores it in a box with straw and colorful streamers.
“It's big enough to be used again,” he says.
And Seulong is left with just one half of a heart, the bigger one, and also a never-ending, dull ache in his chest.
“It's impossible,” Taecyeon whispers in the darkness of their corner, later. “The Gorilla said it functioned just as before.”
“I know,” Seulong answers. “And everything is perfectly greased, too, so there's no reason. It's just-” He clutches at his chest. “Like I can still feel the other half beating in its box.”
It's the only time he talks about it and later he'll say he forgot about this conversation.
A year later, the Gorilla calls them both up at his office. It's actually a corner of the workshop where he set up a desk and an arrogant little lamp that reminds Seulong of Jay the Pendulum Clock.
“You two.” the Gorilla says. “You're ready.”
That's big. Last time he said that, Nichkhun the Bubble Gum Vending Machine got sent in the World. Rumors say he's next to the Carousel, giving out marshmallows to the kids.
Taecyeon clicks his teeth together in excitement, bad habit he developed since he was given that keyboard.
“You,” the Gorilla tells him, “will print announcements. Here are your papers.”
Seulong watches the documents and wonders what task he'll be given. He wiggles his tools anxiously.
“And you.” The Gorilla turns to him. “Wood carver.” He hands him the papers and finally says: “Take care.”
Almost softly.
Seulong wonders if the broken piece of magnet is still in that egg-box.
There is a lot of work for a wood-carver in this world. Seulong sees hundreds and thousands of dolls and cradles and even, just once, a horse from the Carousel. He pets his back soothingly while his hand operates, swift, on the little block of wood that will soon replace the broken ear. The animal blinks, curves his neck. Seulong's plane at the tip of his index jumps and dips and carves.
Taecyeon is very occupied, too. People come and ask him to type something nice for their son who's just born, or for their wedding that's about to come. Taec uses navy-blue ink and golden arabesques, pale yellow paper, vintage typography.
Sometimes, he's asked to write about death.
Ink tears stain the wood of his cheeks, indelible, and he writes: “Misty, who gave us happiness. Rest In Peace.”
“I get to know people,” he explains. “That's why I like it so much.”
“I like it too,” Seulong says. “I like to use my hands to fix and create.”
They both think of the Gorilla in his workshop. Surely others must have taken their place, their corner next to the fireplace. And he doesn't remember them.
The entire Kingdom is celebrating the union of their Prince with a beautiful foreign Princess, and there has never been more to do than now. Monkey messengers are jumping up and down and everywhere, red soldiers running around and their heels click-clack on the paved streets. The air bristles with fur and feather and lace, little mademoiselles giggling and singing, inviting each other to tea parties, cymbal bears. A general atmosphere of warm chocolate and orange cupcakes.
The Messenger who comes to Seulong is dressed in red like the Royal Guard and has a broken nose. Seulong offers to make him a new one while he delivers his message.
“Why thank you,” he says. “The Prince requested your talents. He wants to offer a house to the Bride.”
“A house ?” Seulong raises his eyebrows while the punch, right hand, middle finger, goes “zip-zip-clack-clack” on heather wood, light pink, very solid, excellent quality.
The Messenger grins professionally. “We've already contacted the Carpenters and the Painters. We want you to create the furniture for a boudoir.” He rolls his eyes and cocks his head left. Wood creaks. “You'll be given three bags of gold and one of stones for each piece. Nothing if the work is incomplete.”
Seulong agrees, because the Prince is a good Prince, and three bags is exactly what he would have asked, only a bit more.
“Oh, by the way,” the Messenger adds when Seulong is nailing the nose back. “We'll send you someone to carry the furniture to the Upholsterer.”
Taecyeon, too, was asked to contribute. Only he offered to do it for a symbolic price because Taecyeon is good and has morals like that. His joints were just better oiled when he was just a bunch of wheels and wood.
He'll print the announcements for the Prince's wedding. His teeth click at full speed, ears letting out puffs of smoke while he mixes gold and pink to create the perfect ink.
They slalom through the crowd to get good spots for the Parade and Seulong snorts as scads of little, identical guys almost make him trip.
“Table-football team,” Taecyeon mutters. Damn them.
Taec chats up a friendly, long legged doll with a white porcelain face, who lets them stand next to her, just behind the barrier.
The Parade is something. Soldiers look impressive in their sparkling, deep red uniforms. Seulong would almost understand the girls handing them handkerchiefs and cakes. He recognizes the Messenger he met, marching at the front of a battalion, and waves at him.
And suddenly, between two drum-rolls, it's like a string pulling at him, chest in a vice, he tumbles halfway on the barrier and the last thing he sees is a flash of red before everything becomes black.
Seulong is in a fool mood. This fainting episode had him stuck to bed during two days, until his wood was all warped and creaky. At every move he makes it cracks loudly and gets on his nerves, ah!
Besides, this chair is just not right. What kind of person would order lion-pawed handles anyway?
“I find it rather classy,” Taecyeon says. He's already finished his announcements, of course. Seulong emotionally blackmailed him into keeping him company while he peels at a piece of oak without any kind of inspiration whatsoever.
He giggles because the notion of Taecyeon and classy being put together always makes him giggle.
Seulong is now done (after changing his point on the left hand five times, thank you very much) and the full set of armchairs, pouffes, pedestal tables, more than he can count, is lined in front of his workshop. The Upholsterer will make them perfect, he thinks, eying the polished, shiny wood.
Seulong's never ridden a flying carpet before and he's a bit anxious, but Wooyoung the Royal Carpet Driver seems confident enough that everything will fit, stools included, so he sits on the soft, plushy material at the passenger's spot without making a scandal when in fact he could have been choking with hysteria. Sometimes he can be nice like that.
Wooyoung chats merrily of life in the Palace, skillfully maneuvering the carpet between minarets and chimneys.
“Where are we supposed to land?” Seulong asks when he feels his gears starting to jam a bit in the knees.
“A Streetlamp must give us a sign,” Wooyoung replies. “I'm looking for him.”
The Streetlamp turns out to be an enthusiastic Harlequin with a wide smile. He waves a them and clears out a small area where Wooyoung smoothly lands the carpet, with a small “oomph”.
“My name is Jinwoon,” the Streetlamp says. “Welcome to Upholsterer Street. Please follow me.”
They enter a small shop lit with the same kind of yellow bulbs that could be found back at the Gorilla's. Jinwoon clears his throat with another grin and suddenly, a lump of brightly colored bits of fabric behind the back of an armchair starts to shake. Seulong sees the shapes of two bony, finely articulated arms. Fingers uncurl themselves one by one and he makes out thin, shiny strings at the tip of the pinkies, points that look like nails, or needles, maybe, on the annular, scissors between the left middle finger and index, chalk and a small hammer on the right.
Very delicate, very recent. High technology.
The fingers wave and click together gracefully, and Seulong feels the Streetlamp pushing him further in the room.
“Hi,” he says. “I'm Seulong the Wood Carver.”
“I know,” says the voice of what is safe to assume now is the Upholsterer. It's high-pitched and the creak denotes lack of oil for too long. “I'm Jokwon the Upholsterer.” The fingers click-click-click. “I would stand up, but my maker went bankrupt and skimped on the wood.”
Seulong understands the words as the armchair swivels.
There are no real legs attached to the wooden box that contains the clockwork of the body sitting here. Just soft, skeleton-less fabric. Cotton legs. Like any corner-of-the-street rag doll.
Who-
Who did this? Who dared not finish a craftsautomaton?
Seulong raises his eyes to the face of the- the creature, and understands something else.
Why is his heart suddenly going “bom-thump-bom”?
Why does he feel a pull towards the tiny armchair?
The mark carved into the chest of the Upholsterer is the same as his, the same three intertwined initials.
“Bom-thump-bom”, says his heart, and he can feel an identical pulsation coming from the person in front of him.
Jokwon the Upholsterer is very tiny and fits right in the circle of Seulong's arms. He has angry fits at random moments, picks ugly bright pink pieces of silk to redecorate Old Teddy's bed, and clicks menacingly when Seulong creaks too much for his liking.
But he fits right, and when they're pressed against each other their hearts - heart - goes “thump-thump” even louder.
Rating: Gen
Warnings: toy world AU
UPHOLSTERY OF OUR MAGNET HEARTS
Taecyeon breaks Seulong's heart when they're one year old.
He doesn't do it on purpose though.
It's just that they're oiling their wheels and checking everything, and Seulong says: “Here, hold this for me”, hands Taec his heavy, fist-sized heart. But Taec's hand are slippery with oil.
He didn't do it on purpose.
The heart slips and falls, and Seulong's eyes go wide, seeing the quicksilver flash of the magnet. Then everything goes “babom” for him, and then “crack”, and his heart lays broken on the nondescript beige tiles of the workshop.
The Gorilla tries to fix it as best he can, but even Super Glue doesn't work, doesn't want to stick, and Seulong has two halves of a beating heart, pitch black at the split but still silverish around it. It smells like metal, too.
One of the bits is slightly smaller, and the Gorilla takes it carefully in his big fingers, sweeps the microscopic flecks of stone remaining, rubs it with soft sandpaper until the edges are blurred. Then he stores it in a box with straw and colorful streamers.
“It's big enough to be used again,” he says.
And Seulong is left with just one half of a heart, the bigger one, and also a never-ending, dull ache in his chest.
“It's impossible,” Taecyeon whispers in the darkness of their corner, later. “The Gorilla said it functioned just as before.”
“I know,” Seulong answers. “And everything is perfectly greased, too, so there's no reason. It's just-” He clutches at his chest. “Like I can still feel the other half beating in its box.”
It's the only time he talks about it and later he'll say he forgot about this conversation.
A year later, the Gorilla calls them both up at his office. It's actually a corner of the workshop where he set up a desk and an arrogant little lamp that reminds Seulong of Jay the Pendulum Clock.
“You two.” the Gorilla says. “You're ready.”
That's big. Last time he said that, Nichkhun the Bubble Gum Vending Machine got sent in the World. Rumors say he's next to the Carousel, giving out marshmallows to the kids.
Taecyeon clicks his teeth together in excitement, bad habit he developed since he was given that keyboard.
“You,” the Gorilla tells him, “will print announcements. Here are your papers.”
Seulong watches the documents and wonders what task he'll be given. He wiggles his tools anxiously.
“And you.” The Gorilla turns to him. “Wood carver.” He hands him the papers and finally says: “Take care.”
Almost softly.
Seulong wonders if the broken piece of magnet is still in that egg-box.
There is a lot of work for a wood-carver in this world. Seulong sees hundreds and thousands of dolls and cradles and even, just once, a horse from the Carousel. He pets his back soothingly while his hand operates, swift, on the little block of wood that will soon replace the broken ear. The animal blinks, curves his neck. Seulong's plane at the tip of his index jumps and dips and carves.
Taecyeon is very occupied, too. People come and ask him to type something nice for their son who's just born, or for their wedding that's about to come. Taec uses navy-blue ink and golden arabesques, pale yellow paper, vintage typography.
Sometimes, he's asked to write about death.
Ink tears stain the wood of his cheeks, indelible, and he writes: “Misty, who gave us happiness. Rest In Peace.”
“I get to know people,” he explains. “That's why I like it so much.”
“I like it too,” Seulong says. “I like to use my hands to fix and create.”
They both think of the Gorilla in his workshop. Surely others must have taken their place, their corner next to the fireplace. And he doesn't remember them.
The entire Kingdom is celebrating the union of their Prince with a beautiful foreign Princess, and there has never been more to do than now. Monkey messengers are jumping up and down and everywhere, red soldiers running around and their heels click-clack on the paved streets. The air bristles with fur and feather and lace, little mademoiselles giggling and singing, inviting each other to tea parties, cymbal bears. A general atmosphere of warm chocolate and orange cupcakes.
The Messenger who comes to Seulong is dressed in red like the Royal Guard and has a broken nose. Seulong offers to make him a new one while he delivers his message.
“Why thank you,” he says. “The Prince requested your talents. He wants to offer a house to the Bride.”
“A house ?” Seulong raises his eyebrows while the punch, right hand, middle finger, goes “zip-zip-clack-clack” on heather wood, light pink, very solid, excellent quality.
The Messenger grins professionally. “We've already contacted the Carpenters and the Painters. We want you to create the furniture for a boudoir.” He rolls his eyes and cocks his head left. Wood creaks. “You'll be given three bags of gold and one of stones for each piece. Nothing if the work is incomplete.”
Seulong agrees, because the Prince is a good Prince, and three bags is exactly what he would have asked, only a bit more.
“Oh, by the way,” the Messenger adds when Seulong is nailing the nose back. “We'll send you someone to carry the furniture to the Upholsterer.”
Taecyeon, too, was asked to contribute. Only he offered to do it for a symbolic price because Taecyeon is good and has morals like that. His joints were just better oiled when he was just a bunch of wheels and wood.
He'll print the announcements for the Prince's wedding. His teeth click at full speed, ears letting out puffs of smoke while he mixes gold and pink to create the perfect ink.
They slalom through the crowd to get good spots for the Parade and Seulong snorts as scads of little, identical guys almost make him trip.
“Table-football team,” Taecyeon mutters. Damn them.
Taec chats up a friendly, long legged doll with a white porcelain face, who lets them stand next to her, just behind the barrier.
The Parade is something. Soldiers look impressive in their sparkling, deep red uniforms. Seulong would almost understand the girls handing them handkerchiefs and cakes. He recognizes the Messenger he met, marching at the front of a battalion, and waves at him.
And suddenly, between two drum-rolls, it's like a string pulling at him, chest in a vice, he tumbles halfway on the barrier and the last thing he sees is a flash of red before everything becomes black.
Seulong is in a fool mood. This fainting episode had him stuck to bed during two days, until his wood was all warped and creaky. At every move he makes it cracks loudly and gets on his nerves, ah!
Besides, this chair is just not right. What kind of person would order lion-pawed handles anyway?
“I find it rather classy,” Taecyeon says. He's already finished his announcements, of course. Seulong emotionally blackmailed him into keeping him company while he peels at a piece of oak without any kind of inspiration whatsoever.
He giggles because the notion of Taecyeon and classy being put together always makes him giggle.
Seulong is now done (after changing his point on the left hand five times, thank you very much) and the full set of armchairs, pouffes, pedestal tables, more than he can count, is lined in front of his workshop. The Upholsterer will make them perfect, he thinks, eying the polished, shiny wood.
Seulong's never ridden a flying carpet before and he's a bit anxious, but Wooyoung the Royal Carpet Driver seems confident enough that everything will fit, stools included, so he sits on the soft, plushy material at the passenger's spot without making a scandal when in fact he could have been choking with hysteria. Sometimes he can be nice like that.
Wooyoung chats merrily of life in the Palace, skillfully maneuvering the carpet between minarets and chimneys.
“Where are we supposed to land?” Seulong asks when he feels his gears starting to jam a bit in the knees.
“A Streetlamp must give us a sign,” Wooyoung replies. “I'm looking for him.”
The Streetlamp turns out to be an enthusiastic Harlequin with a wide smile. He waves a them and clears out a small area where Wooyoung smoothly lands the carpet, with a small “oomph”.
“My name is Jinwoon,” the Streetlamp says. “Welcome to Upholsterer Street. Please follow me.”
They enter a small shop lit with the same kind of yellow bulbs that could be found back at the Gorilla's. Jinwoon clears his throat with another grin and suddenly, a lump of brightly colored bits of fabric behind the back of an armchair starts to shake. Seulong sees the shapes of two bony, finely articulated arms. Fingers uncurl themselves one by one and he makes out thin, shiny strings at the tip of the pinkies, points that look like nails, or needles, maybe, on the annular, scissors between the left middle finger and index, chalk and a small hammer on the right.
Very delicate, very recent. High technology.
The fingers wave and click together gracefully, and Seulong feels the Streetlamp pushing him further in the room.
“Hi,” he says. “I'm Seulong the Wood Carver.”
“I know,” says the voice of what is safe to assume now is the Upholsterer. It's high-pitched and the creak denotes lack of oil for too long. “I'm Jokwon the Upholsterer.” The fingers click-click-click. “I would stand up, but my maker went bankrupt and skimped on the wood.”
Seulong understands the words as the armchair swivels.
There are no real legs attached to the wooden box that contains the clockwork of the body sitting here. Just soft, skeleton-less fabric. Cotton legs. Like any corner-of-the-street rag doll.
Who-
Who did this? Who dared not finish a craftsautomaton?
Seulong raises his eyes to the face of the- the creature, and understands something else.
Why is his heart suddenly going “bom-thump-bom”?
Why does he feel a pull towards the tiny armchair?
The mark carved into the chest of the Upholsterer is the same as his, the same three intertwined initials.
“Bom-thump-bom”, says his heart, and he can feel an identical pulsation coming from the person in front of him.
Jokwon the Upholsterer is very tiny and fits right in the circle of Seulong's arms. He has angry fits at random moments, picks ugly bright pink pieces of silk to redecorate Old Teddy's bed, and clicks menacingly when Seulong creaks too much for his liking.
But he fits right, and when they're pressed against each other their hearts - heart - goes “thump-thump” even louder.