Clichés
First, it must be warned that the following will be chock-full of clichés. And so if clichés aren’t your thing, then Choi Minho would like to gently tell you to ‘kindly scram and invade someone else’s mind, thank you very much’.
It was a dark and stormy night…
And yes. Minho knew. He could already hear the shrill voice of his English teacher back from elementary school in his mind, “Children, never, nehhh-veeer, start a story with ‘it was a dark and stormy night’!”
“NEVER!”
Minho winced, as the shrill scream from those childhood memories ricocheted off the walls of his mind.
But it WAS a dark and stormy night.
So here goes.
You see, as Flaming Charisma of SHINee and “Ace” of Dream Team, Minho had a reputation to maintain. And so very coincidentally - or not - said reputation impliedly forbids racing hearts and quaking knees on dark, stormy nights like these.
After all, this was a manly reputation which came along with having a voice “so low I think it comes from the soles of his feet”, as his leader had very happily pointed out in interviews.
He couldn’t switch on the lights for fear of waking up the rest of the members in the bedroom. But more importantly, switching on the lights meant they would learn about his deepest, darkest secret, which happened to involve dark, stormy nights.
Shuffling to the living room, he jumped a little as a clap of thunder made the building shake slightly. Switching on the lights, he huddled on the couch, knees concealing the sleepy sulk on his lips.
Stupid thunderstorm.
He really did want to sleep. Omnipotent being knew the fatigue from their Japan promotions had long sipped into his bones. But of course, the skies decided, now was the abso-freaking-lutely best time to have a thunderstorm.
And he couldn’t sleep. Whine and sulk.
Just then, he heard a shuffling noise coming from up the hallway. Grabbing the cushion nearest to him, he positioned it as defensively as you can possibly place a small, fluffy cushion before you.
Great. First a thunderstorm, and now, unknown shuffling noises? Just great.
“Key?”
“Minho-yah, not sleeping?” Maybe it was the relief washing through him. But at that very moment, he realized how much he loved Key’s voice. It was low, though not as low as his, yet with the potential to issue high-pitched squeals at the sight of high fashion or adorable toddlers who go by the name of Jung Yoogeun.
“Can’t sleep?”
He nodded silently, unwilling to speak in fear it would disrupt his train of thought. Multitasking was never his forte.
More importantly, that voice was… soothing and comforting. It warmed his heart, made it feel all warm and fuzzy, and made him think of…
“… hot chocolate?”
Woah. Did that boy just read his mind?
“Huh?”
“Do you want some hot chocolate? I just got some rather good quality chocolate that day. They say its suitable for melting…”
Minho gave his fellow rapper a huge appreciative grin.
Usually, spacing out when Key was talking would mean a snarky retort or a spatula to the head. But this wasn’t the case tonight. Minho guesses there are certain privileges to not being able to sleep on dark, stormy nights, which somehow entitled him to a mollycoddling allowance.
Alternatively, he was thinking too much, and Key was just pleased for an opportunity to try out this awesome chocolate.
He watched and listened to the sound of pots brought onto the stove, the opening of the fridge door, the soft thud when it was closed and the occasional sound of the spatula hitting against the sides of the pot, as Key stirred the concoction. A very delicious smelling concoction if Minho might say so himself.
Minutes passed, him just watching from the couch as Key shuffled about the kitchen, in a reverie.
This was a sight he could come home to every night. Him by the stove, cooking something, and Minho would hug him from the back, nuzzle that beautiful, long neck, taking in the scen-
Frowning, Minho shook his head, annoyed. The warm chocolate-y aroma wafting from the stove was obviously messing with his mind. He didn’t just imagine himself and Key---
Oh, but he did.
He didn’t know what overtook him, but the next thing he knew, he was standing behind the apron-clad boy. Something told him to grab the boy by the waist to face him and… well, he did.
The boy’s eyes conveyed surprise, but there was also something skipping behind those dark brown orbs, which spoke of a desire.
Their lips met oh so gently and Minho swore he saw fireworks.
Although his eyes were closed.
No idea how that works.
The kiss was perfect. Simply perfect.
Well, minus a bouquet of Key’s favourite flowers, rose petals scattered all over the floor and bed, and breakfast in bed for two - after whatever was supposed to happen on the bed between then and the subsequent breakfast.
And when he opened his eyes, he saw Key, eyes still shut. And he swore he was in love. The boy before him, was love personified.
Also, from the corner of his eye, he was rather certain Key’s foot had… popped, ala Anne Hathaway in Princess Diaries.
-
Later the next morning, Onew, poor-suffering leader for time eternal, was all prepared for war.
I mean… waking Minho up.
And he was pleasantly surprised to find the rapper was already up, sitting by his bed, furiously scribbling in his diary.
“Woah! Who are you? Why did you kill Minho and what have you done to his body?!”
“… Hyung…”
“Ok. So maybe you didn’t. I’ll reserve my judgment for a later date. But, what’s this all about?”
Minho merely grinned. The biggest, derpiest grin he could possibly muster; also probably the biggest, derpiest grin known to mankind. It was the grin which said ‘something huge, enormous, gigantic and awesome but I’m not telling you, nehnehnernehner’.
Right.
Very mature.
“… why do I even bother? Forget it. Anyway, we’re leaving in 20 minutes.” And with that, the leader left the room, all ready to call for a SHINee emergency meeting. Today’s agenda: unearthing the secret behind that annoying grin.
If only they had thought of sneaking a peek, just a small, teeny peek, at Minho’s diary…
“It was a dark and stormy night, and I had fallen head over heels in love.”
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this is a story of many clichés and the overturning of one stereotype.
hiatus is KINDA off cause inspiration came! =D also, this is possibly the closest to fluff i've written to date. at least there isn't unrequited love and fatal accidents involving trucks.. also some kinda compensation for the angsty minkey that was "we were never close".
dedicated to my lit teacher from years back who made sure we knew he HATED clichés. whom i thank for encouraging us to call things out for the rubbish that it is, whilst retaining the ability to applaud things where merit is due. thank you mr P. though he might not appreciate his teachings being used for such frivolous matters, but.. who knows? i've learnt never to expect the expected from him. ^^
this is a mish-mash of Minho's pov, narrator's pov and just about anything. couldn't sleep last night until i wrote this out. but no, it was not a dark and stormy night.
It was a dark and stormy night…
And yes. Minho knew. He could already hear the shrill voice of his English teacher back from elementary school in his mind, “Children, never, nehhh-veeer, start a story with ‘it was a dark and stormy night’!”
“NEVER!”
Minho winced, as the shrill scream from those childhood memories ricocheted off the walls of his mind.
But it WAS a dark and stormy night.
So here goes.
You see, as Flaming Charisma of SHINee and “Ace” of Dream Team, Minho had a reputation to maintain. And so very coincidentally - or not - said reputation impliedly forbids racing hearts and quaking knees on dark, stormy nights like these.
After all, this was a manly reputation which came along with having a voice “so low I think it comes from the soles of his feet”, as his leader had very happily pointed out in interviews.
He couldn’t switch on the lights for fear of waking up the rest of the members in the bedroom. But more importantly, switching on the lights meant they would learn about his deepest, darkest secret, which happened to involve dark, stormy nights.
Shuffling to the living room, he jumped a little as a clap of thunder made the building shake slightly. Switching on the lights, he huddled on the couch, knees concealing the sleepy sulk on his lips.
Stupid thunderstorm.
He really did want to sleep. Omnipotent being knew the fatigue from their Japan promotions had long sipped into his bones. But of course, the skies decided, now was the abso-freaking-lutely best time to have a thunderstorm.
And he couldn’t sleep. Whine and sulk.
Just then, he heard a shuffling noise coming from up the hallway. Grabbing the cushion nearest to him, he positioned it as defensively as you can possibly place a small, fluffy cushion before you.
Great. First a thunderstorm, and now, unknown shuffling noises? Just great.
“Key?”
“Minho-yah, not sleeping?” Maybe it was the relief washing through him. But at that very moment, he realized how much he loved Key’s voice. It was low, though not as low as his, yet with the potential to issue high-pitched squeals at the sight of high fashion or adorable toddlers who go by the name of Jung Yoogeun.
“Can’t sleep?”
He nodded silently, unwilling to speak in fear it would disrupt his train of thought. Multitasking was never his forte.
More importantly, that voice was… soothing and comforting. It warmed his heart, made it feel all warm and fuzzy, and made him think of…
“… hot chocolate?”
Woah. Did that boy just read his mind?
“Huh?”
“Do you want some hot chocolate? I just got some rather good quality chocolate that day. They say its suitable for melting…”
Minho gave his fellow rapper a huge appreciative grin.
Usually, spacing out when Key was talking would mean a snarky retort or a spatula to the head. But this wasn’t the case tonight. Minho guesses there are certain privileges to not being able to sleep on dark, stormy nights, which somehow entitled him to a mollycoddling allowance.
Alternatively, he was thinking too much, and Key was just pleased for an opportunity to try out this awesome chocolate.
He watched and listened to the sound of pots brought onto the stove, the opening of the fridge door, the soft thud when it was closed and the occasional sound of the spatula hitting against the sides of the pot, as Key stirred the concoction. A very delicious smelling concoction if Minho might say so himself.
Minutes passed, him just watching from the couch as Key shuffled about the kitchen, in a reverie.
This was a sight he could come home to every night. Him by the stove, cooking something, and Minho would hug him from the back, nuzzle that beautiful, long neck, taking in the scen-
Frowning, Minho shook his head, annoyed. The warm chocolate-y aroma wafting from the stove was obviously messing with his mind. He didn’t just imagine himself and Key---
Oh, but he did.
He didn’t know what overtook him, but the next thing he knew, he was standing behind the apron-clad boy. Something told him to grab the boy by the waist to face him and… well, he did.
The boy’s eyes conveyed surprise, but there was also something skipping behind those dark brown orbs, which spoke of a desire.
Their lips met oh so gently and Minho swore he saw fireworks.
Although his eyes were closed.
No idea how that works.
The kiss was perfect. Simply perfect.
Well, minus a bouquet of Key’s favourite flowers, rose petals scattered all over the floor and bed, and breakfast in bed for two - after whatever was supposed to happen on the bed between then and the subsequent breakfast.
And when he opened his eyes, he saw Key, eyes still shut. And he swore he was in love. The boy before him, was love personified.
Also, from the corner of his eye, he was rather certain Key’s foot had… popped, ala Anne Hathaway in Princess Diaries.
-
Later the next morning, Onew, poor-suffering leader for time eternal, was all prepared for war.
I mean… waking Minho up.
And he was pleasantly surprised to find the rapper was already up, sitting by his bed, furiously scribbling in his diary.
“Woah! Who are you? Why did you kill Minho and what have you done to his body?!”
“… Hyung…”
“Ok. So maybe you didn’t. I’ll reserve my judgment for a later date. But, what’s this all about?”
Minho merely grinned. The biggest, derpiest grin he could possibly muster; also probably the biggest, derpiest grin known to mankind. It was the grin which said ‘something huge, enormous, gigantic and awesome but I’m not telling you, nehnehnernehner’.
Right.
Very mature.
“… why do I even bother? Forget it. Anyway, we’re leaving in 20 minutes.” And with that, the leader left the room, all ready to call for a SHINee emergency meeting. Today’s agenda: unearthing the secret behind that annoying grin.
If only they had thought of sneaking a peek, just a small, teeny peek, at Minho’s diary…
“It was a dark and stormy night, and I had fallen head over heels in love.”
web counter
-
this is a story of many clichés and the overturning of one stereotype.
hiatus is KINDA off cause inspiration came! =D also, this is possibly the closest to fluff i've written to date. at least there isn't unrequited love and fatal accidents involving trucks.. also some kinda compensation for the angsty minkey that was "we were never close".
dedicated to my lit teacher from years back who made sure we knew he HATED clichés. whom i thank for encouraging us to call things out for the rubbish that it is, whilst retaining the ability to applaud things where merit is due. thank you mr P. though he might not appreciate his teachings being used for such frivolous matters, but.. who knows? i've learnt never to expect the expected from him. ^^
this is a mish-mash of Minho's pov, narrator's pov and just about anything. couldn't sleep last night until i wrote this out. but no, it was not a dark and stormy night.