[exo] happy anniversary
happy anniversary
exo, lu han/suho
pg, 582w
--written for exoplosion challenge #2; posted here after the comm died.
ao3 mirror
There are too many people in a very tight space but Lu Han can still spot Joonmyun dancing in the crowd on the elevated stage, bouncing on the spot in Lu Han’s absence. Lu Han almost wishes he couldn’t see him, that he could lose him among the crush of bodies, but he keeps watching anyway out of some deep loyalty or pity. Joonmyun’s dancing isn’t terrible by any means, but there’s something slightly off about his timing that makes it hard to enjoy, and hard to dance with: he’s too hesitant to fully lead, but too eager to simply follow. Lu Han can’t remember when it started bothering him, if it ever didn’t bother him.
When the bartender finally comes over Lu Han immediately says, “Two shots.”
The bartender tilts his head. His eyes are narrow, unfamiliar. They’re not Joonmyun’s eyes. “Two shots of what?”
Lu Han looks up, mouth open. He reads a flirty name at random off the chalkboard behind the bar, and the bartender nods and goes to pour them. It’s vodka and something yellow and something pink or red that settles at the bottoms of the glasses. They smell like artificial cherries or nail polish, and Lu Han can already feel the syrupy burn along his palate. He looks back at the dance floor and Joonmyun’s looking for him, his face tilted up to find him around other people’s heads. He’s spotlit in blue, smiling, eyes open. He really is beautiful, thinks Lu Han.
Joonmyun insists on doing a love shot, even though they’re standing so close to the wall that Lu Han’s knuckles scrape against the exposed brick as he cranes his arm around Joonmyun’s. The rolled-up cuff of Joonmyun’s white shirt rests in the crook of his elbow. Joonmyun had pressed his shirt before they went out, while Lu Han sat on the couch fiddling with his phone and thinking about what to talk about over dinner. It doesn’t matter. That’s the reward for staying with the same person for a year: you gain the freedom to ignore each other.
“Lu Han?”
He looks up, startled. Joonmyun’s face is there, white with blue shadows, eyes open. His bangs are going the wrong way, but Lu Han doesn’t reach out to rearrange them.
An hour later, as they stand together on the snowy street with their arms out for a cab, the words form on the edge of Lu Han’s tongue and swirl around his closed mouth, like when he first started speaking Korean and had to prepare every sentence in his mind before he could say it. They sit there, thick and nauseating like cherry-flavoured syrup. Lu Han thinks of letting them out, and his arms and chest heave with the imagined momentum. He thinks of the look that would be on Joonmyun’s face, his disappointed, accepting smile. He thinks of going to bed alone, maybe with puffy eyes and raw throat, and waking up that way too in the orange light of a new life, or an old one.
Then the cab pulls up, and Lu Han swallows his words in one shot. In the silence of the cab, he lets Joonmyun reach over the middle seat and lace their fingers together while he stares ahead, thinking about waking up tomorrow in the blue-grey light with the dull weight of Joonmyun’s body next to him. He closes his eyes and squeezes Joonmyun’s hand, and his heart speeds up a little when Joonmyun squeezes back.
exo, lu han/suho
pg, 582w
--written for exoplosion challenge #2; posted here after the comm died.
ao3 mirror
There are too many people in a very tight space but Lu Han can still spot Joonmyun dancing in the crowd on the elevated stage, bouncing on the spot in Lu Han’s absence. Lu Han almost wishes he couldn’t see him, that he could lose him among the crush of bodies, but he keeps watching anyway out of some deep loyalty or pity. Joonmyun’s dancing isn’t terrible by any means, but there’s something slightly off about his timing that makes it hard to enjoy, and hard to dance with: he’s too hesitant to fully lead, but too eager to simply follow. Lu Han can’t remember when it started bothering him, if it ever didn’t bother him.
When the bartender finally comes over Lu Han immediately says, “Two shots.”
The bartender tilts his head. His eyes are narrow, unfamiliar. They’re not Joonmyun’s eyes. “Two shots of what?”
Lu Han looks up, mouth open. He reads a flirty name at random off the chalkboard behind the bar, and the bartender nods and goes to pour them. It’s vodka and something yellow and something pink or red that settles at the bottoms of the glasses. They smell like artificial cherries or nail polish, and Lu Han can already feel the syrupy burn along his palate. He looks back at the dance floor and Joonmyun’s looking for him, his face tilted up to find him around other people’s heads. He’s spotlit in blue, smiling, eyes open. He really is beautiful, thinks Lu Han.
Joonmyun insists on doing a love shot, even though they’re standing so close to the wall that Lu Han’s knuckles scrape against the exposed brick as he cranes his arm around Joonmyun’s. The rolled-up cuff of Joonmyun’s white shirt rests in the crook of his elbow. Joonmyun had pressed his shirt before they went out, while Lu Han sat on the couch fiddling with his phone and thinking about what to talk about over dinner. It doesn’t matter. That’s the reward for staying with the same person for a year: you gain the freedom to ignore each other.
“Lu Han?”
He looks up, startled. Joonmyun’s face is there, white with blue shadows, eyes open. His bangs are going the wrong way, but Lu Han doesn’t reach out to rearrange them.
An hour later, as they stand together on the snowy street with their arms out for a cab, the words form on the edge of Lu Han’s tongue and swirl around his closed mouth, like when he first started speaking Korean and had to prepare every sentence in his mind before he could say it. They sit there, thick and nauseating like cherry-flavoured syrup. Lu Han thinks of letting them out, and his arms and chest heave with the imagined momentum. He thinks of the look that would be on Joonmyun’s face, his disappointed, accepting smile. He thinks of going to bed alone, maybe with puffy eyes and raw throat, and waking up that way too in the orange light of a new life, or an old one.
Then the cab pulls up, and Lu Han swallows his words in one shot. In the silence of the cab, he lets Joonmyun reach over the middle seat and lace their fingers together while he stares ahead, thinking about waking up tomorrow in the blue-grey light with the dull weight of Joonmyun’s body next to him. He closes his eyes and squeezes Joonmyun’s hand, and his heart speeds up a little when Joonmyun squeezes back.