Bar Tab (Flashfic Challenge 75: In My Arms)
Title: Bar Tab
Author: twhitesakura
Word-count: 200
Concrit? Yes
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. Yoochun has a drinking companion.
Yoochun downs the sourness of soju in the dim dive. The bartender gives him the eye; his tab’s running a little high this week, but Yoochun has always managed to pay his debts.
“Another,” Yoochun demands and the bartender gives Yoochun another shot despite the reluctance that manifests as a scowl on the barkeep’s face. He thrusts the full glass into Yoochun’s hand and Yoochun strains his neck, ready to gulp down the alcohol when someone intrudes.
“You’re drinking yourself into an early grave,” a low voice croons admonishingly at Yoochun’s side. The bar’s deserted except for Yoochun, and now, the black-clad figure that sinks into the bar stool next to Yoochun, as smoothly as a cat.
Yoochun gives the stranger a long look for a moment, the artificial blond of his hair, the lacquered ebony of his nails, and the thick lips Yoochun knew intimately once upon a time. Death wears the perfect imitation, except for the smile.
“Don’t talk to me like you know me,” Yoochun rasps thickly.
Death smirks, full of dark promises, and despite himself, Yoochun finds himself shivering when he sees the expression on Junsu’s face, a face that has been dead for fifteen years.
Author: twhitesakura
Word-count: 200
Concrit? Yes
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. Yoochun has a drinking companion.
Yoochun downs the sourness of soju in the dim dive. The bartender gives him the eye; his tab’s running a little high this week, but Yoochun has always managed to pay his debts.
“Another,” Yoochun demands and the bartender gives Yoochun another shot despite the reluctance that manifests as a scowl on the barkeep’s face. He thrusts the full glass into Yoochun’s hand and Yoochun strains his neck, ready to gulp down the alcohol when someone intrudes.
“You’re drinking yourself into an early grave,” a low voice croons admonishingly at Yoochun’s side. The bar’s deserted except for Yoochun, and now, the black-clad figure that sinks into the bar stool next to Yoochun, as smoothly as a cat.
Yoochun gives the stranger a long look for a moment, the artificial blond of his hair, the lacquered ebony of his nails, and the thick lips Yoochun knew intimately once upon a time. Death wears the perfect imitation, except for the smile.
“Don’t talk to me like you know me,” Yoochun rasps thickly.
Death smirks, full of dark promises, and despite himself, Yoochun finds himself shivering when he sees the expression on Junsu’s face, a face that has been dead for fifteen years.