kiss a sky - 1/1
kiss a sky. (yoochun/changmin)
722 words. AU. G
◦ originally posted here.
Paris is where things-that-never-happened happen.
◦ this prompt actually made me want to draw a picture at first. so i did. and then i wrote something for it because
dbsk_flashfic is a writing comm.
◦for
machine_of_july because new friends are fun and she makes me want to draw.
you wonder if you knew him, once.
each day that you pass the little cafe on the corner of here and there, you'll see him. all stretched limbs and focus, a little worn novel in his lap and a pencil twirling in one hand as he occasionally stops to jot down a thing or another. he's never looked up at you before, so you're quite sure he has no idea who you are, though you feel from the daily observations you almost know him. he likes his coffee sweet, something you find charmingly boyish from someone who seems so mature. he doesn't know much about parisian fashion, yet he manages to stand out to you every single time. you've never had to search for him. he's always just there.
you name him max, because once he wore a tshirt and ohmygod those biceps had you thinking the entire day.
(you're not gay but sometimes you like to pretend that you are. anything kim jaejoong might say is a load of bullcrap.)
in your mind he's a great singer, one with an incredible range. he'd sing all your compositions, no questions asked, except for the off day when he'd give you a bit of attitude but you'd offer to cook him your special dish and he'd comply.
you notice he reads only a page of his book a day. he's barely half way through, but already you worry about what will happen once he finishes. the thought makes you vaguely sick to your stomach.
so you try not to think about it and let the days pass, as contently as they are.
but, since the days passed and you let them pass, he finishes the book.
the next day you walk past with stones in your stomach. his seat by the window is empty, and you find the image lonely. on a whim, you sit down where he used to and order what he used to. you're halfway through the cup when he shows up, book in his hand and not at all surprised to see you in his seat.
"hello," he says, in perfect korean. you find that you're not that surprised either.
"hi," you say, taking another sip out of your cup. "you finished your book."
"i did." you offer him a stick of biscotti and he stares at it for a while before sitting down across from you. "you noticed."
you shrug. "i guess so. i didn't know you knew i was watching."
"i noticed you way before you first noticed me."
"that's." you can't think of what to say, so you point to his book. "what's it about?"
"the art of silent observation."
"ah," you say. you have no idea what he's talking about. you look into your cup and try to ignore the vibration of your phone as jaejoong calls. you know it's probably work related and important, but somehow his desperation pales when you think about sitting here, at the nameless cafe with max. he orders a cup of cafe au lait.
"that's new," you blurt. then you look back into your cup and wonder if that went a little too far. when you look up, he's laughing.
"you're park yoochun, right?"
you let the wonder show on your face for once. "how did you know?"
"i recognised your voice. when you were talking on the phone one day. i did some research and it came up with composer park yoochun."
you think for a bit. "you like what i write?"
he looks down. "no."
"good," you sigh. "neither do i. too uninspired."
there's a little pause before you hear him clear his throat. "i could help with that."
the two of you look up. and smile.
you wonder if this is what love feels like.
years later, you're sitting at the studio with changmin behind you.
"sing this for me," you say, and you pass him a score. he does. you close your eyes and listen, and realise quite suddenly that he's been everything you've ever imagined him to be. and a littlelot more. the song ends and he sits onto the stool beside you. when you open your eyes, he's kissing the bumps of your knuckles.
"i knew i loved you before i met you," you blurt. he looks up. he's smiling again.
"me too."
--
extra:
(:
722 words. AU. G
◦ originally posted here.
Paris is where things-that-never-happened happen.
◦ this prompt actually made me want to draw a picture at first. so i did. and then i wrote something for it because
dbsk_flashfic is a writing comm.
◦for
machine_of_july because new friends are fun and she makes me want to draw.
you wonder if you knew him, once.
each day that you pass the little cafe on the corner of here and there, you'll see him. all stretched limbs and focus, a little worn novel in his lap and a pencil twirling in one hand as he occasionally stops to jot down a thing or another. he's never looked up at you before, so you're quite sure he has no idea who you are, though you feel from the daily observations you almost know him. he likes his coffee sweet, something you find charmingly boyish from someone who seems so mature. he doesn't know much about parisian fashion, yet he manages to stand out to you every single time. you've never had to search for him. he's always just there.
you name him max, because once he wore a tshirt and ohmygod those biceps had you thinking the entire day.
(you're not gay but sometimes you like to pretend that you are. anything kim jaejoong might say is a load of bullcrap.)
in your mind he's a great singer, one with an incredible range. he'd sing all your compositions, no questions asked, except for the off day when he'd give you a bit of attitude but you'd offer to cook him your special dish and he'd comply.
you notice he reads only a page of his book a day. he's barely half way through, but already you worry about what will happen once he finishes. the thought makes you vaguely sick to your stomach.
so you try not to think about it and let the days pass, as contently as they are.
but, since the days passed and you let them pass, he finishes the book.
the next day you walk past with stones in your stomach. his seat by the window is empty, and you find the image lonely. on a whim, you sit down where he used to and order what he used to. you're halfway through the cup when he shows up, book in his hand and not at all surprised to see you in his seat.
"hello," he says, in perfect korean. you find that you're not that surprised either.
"hi," you say, taking another sip out of your cup. "you finished your book."
"i did." you offer him a stick of biscotti and he stares at it for a while before sitting down across from you. "you noticed."
you shrug. "i guess so. i didn't know you knew i was watching."
"i noticed you way before you first noticed me."
"that's." you can't think of what to say, so you point to his book. "what's it about?"
"the art of silent observation."
"ah," you say. you have no idea what he's talking about. you look into your cup and try to ignore the vibration of your phone as jaejoong calls. you know it's probably work related and important, but somehow his desperation pales when you think about sitting here, at the nameless cafe with max. he orders a cup of cafe au lait.
"that's new," you blurt. then you look back into your cup and wonder if that went a little too far. when you look up, he's laughing.
"you're park yoochun, right?"
you let the wonder show on your face for once. "how did you know?"
"i recognised your voice. when you were talking on the phone one day. i did some research and it came up with composer park yoochun."
you think for a bit. "you like what i write?"
he looks down. "no."
"good," you sigh. "neither do i. too uninspired."
there's a little pause before you hear him clear his throat. "i could help with that."
the two of you look up. and smile.
you wonder if this is what love feels like.
years later, you're sitting at the studio with changmin behind you.
"sing this for me," you say, and you pass him a score. he does. you close your eyes and listen, and realise quite suddenly that he's been everything you've ever imagined him to be. and a littlelot more. the song ends and he sits onto the stool beside you. when you open your eyes, he's kissing the bumps of your knuckles.
"i knew i loved you before i met you," you blurt. he looks up. he's smiling again.
"me too."
--
extra:
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