[qmi] A perfect day
Title: A perfect day
Pairing: Vague Qmi
Rating: PG-13. Sexual themes referenced and implied.
Summary: You remember the details of most everything, yet it still seems so unclear. The only thing you know for sure is that that day, the perfect day, had not been a lie.
A perfect day.
So clear.
Yet so faded.
You remember every detail of how it began. Sun slithering in from distant corners elsewhere, morning breezes through slightly opened windows, even the exact position in which you awoke. You remember it all, though it's hard not to.
You remember his smile, half asleep, grin awkward and lopsided, yet still brilliant and bright. You remember his warmth, his skin to yours, how his breath splayed against your forehead, how you snuggled into him when you had realized he'd also been awake.
You remember his exact words. You remember how you greeted him in return, how the both of you had been concerned about having woken the other up. You remember the passion in his eyes, the elation and shock that the night hadn't been a lie, that you had in fact been anything but a figment of his imagination.
But you don't remember what happened thereafter, but you're okay with that. Even if your mind doesn't remember, you're quite sure your body remembers every tumbled sheet that passed over you both, every kiss exchanged and planted, ever heated touch that lingered against your skin. You don't remember what it had taken to get you both to stop, to actually leave the bed, but in the big picture it seemed insignificant anyway.
You remember the mall date to the point where you remember every store you walked into and in what order. You remember your complaints to him about being stuck in a game store for too long, and you remember how he'd keep silent about his protests for staying in a store filled with over-commercialized stuffed toys. You remember what you ate, what he ate, what the both of you shared.
You remember dinner that night, the hands under the table, the daring touches, hoping the waitress wouldn't see your dangerous ventures. You remember his restrained hisses perfectly, knowing what exactly caused him to buck oh so involuntarily.
"Mi, not here," he would beg, and you would refuse to comply.
You remember exactly how he ravaged you the second you returned home, how your friend Ryeowook had inconveniently called, how he continued to tease and touch you throughout the conversation. You never really found out if Ryeowook figured you out, but to some extent you didn't really care either.
You remember the shower scene, how you had suggested a shower in the dark, how unexpectedly arousing making out with him in the dark in the shower actually had been. You remember being surprised when he whispered in your ear, above the gentle roar of the shower water, that he wouldn't mind topping you, and because you secretly wish for it but would never admit it to him you remember having lost it from there.
Though you don't remember much of anything from release to cuddling in bed, you remember how it ends, with you cuddling into his chest once more, murmuring sweet nothings of a never-ending perfect day. For once in your life, throughout recent stress and obligations, you had gotten a good night's sleep.
And of course, the one bit you would never forget.
"Mi, I love you."
In hushed whisper, "I love you too, Kui Xian."
It's all clear in memory, and likely you were to remember it for a long time still. Yet with so much distance and so little time, it was as if it was all fading away.
- Kui Xian, call me later tonight? I have free time!
- Ah, okay. Lemme just play a quick game of Starcraft and I'll give you a call!
And though you were surprised that he actually remembered to call amidst Starcraft, fifteen minutes hadn't nearly been enough to make up for the distance apart.
Singing to yourself reminded you of him, so though you used to do it before having met him, you do it now more than ever. Sometimes they're songs relevant to your mood: sappy, loaded with love lyrics, aimed to ease your heart's pangs. But most times you sang songs you'd sung along with him, duets, ballads, anything that he'd sung before - because even if the lyrics were irrelevant, the memories alone made them more meaningful to you than any other song.
- If you have time later, call me? I miss you.
But he never called. And still, you wonder if it's because he never found the time or because he didn't miss you in turn.
You still long for the day to see him again. You don't know if he longs for that day as much as you do. You don't know if he hurts without you as much as you hurt without him. And upon much reflection, you conclude you don't really know much of anything.
The only thing you do know, for sure, is that one day had not been a lie.
But the rest?
Perhaps.
A perfect day.
So clear.
Yet so faded.
But not faded at all.
A dream?
Pairing: Vague Qmi
Rating: PG-13. Sexual themes referenced and implied.
Summary: You remember the details of most everything, yet it still seems so unclear. The only thing you know for sure is that that day, the perfect day, had not been a lie.
A perfect day.
So clear.
Yet so faded.
You remember every detail of how it began. Sun slithering in from distant corners elsewhere, morning breezes through slightly opened windows, even the exact position in which you awoke. You remember it all, though it's hard not to.
You remember his smile, half asleep, grin awkward and lopsided, yet still brilliant and bright. You remember his warmth, his skin to yours, how his breath splayed against your forehead, how you snuggled into him when you had realized he'd also been awake.
You remember his exact words. You remember how you greeted him in return, how the both of you had been concerned about having woken the other up. You remember the passion in his eyes, the elation and shock that the night hadn't been a lie, that you had in fact been anything but a figment of his imagination.
But you don't remember what happened thereafter, but you're okay with that. Even if your mind doesn't remember, you're quite sure your body remembers every tumbled sheet that passed over you both, every kiss exchanged and planted, ever heated touch that lingered against your skin. You don't remember what it had taken to get you both to stop, to actually leave the bed, but in the big picture it seemed insignificant anyway.
You remember the mall date to the point where you remember every store you walked into and in what order. You remember your complaints to him about being stuck in a game store for too long, and you remember how he'd keep silent about his protests for staying in a store filled with over-commercialized stuffed toys. You remember what you ate, what he ate, what the both of you shared.
You remember dinner that night, the hands under the table, the daring touches, hoping the waitress wouldn't see your dangerous ventures. You remember his restrained hisses perfectly, knowing what exactly caused him to buck oh so involuntarily.
"Mi, not here," he would beg, and you would refuse to comply.
You remember exactly how he ravaged you the second you returned home, how your friend Ryeowook had inconveniently called, how he continued to tease and touch you throughout the conversation. You never really found out if Ryeowook figured you out, but to some extent you didn't really care either.
You remember the shower scene, how you had suggested a shower in the dark, how unexpectedly arousing making out with him in the dark in the shower actually had been. You remember being surprised when he whispered in your ear, above the gentle roar of the shower water, that he wouldn't mind topping you, and because you secretly wish for it but would never admit it to him you remember having lost it from there.
Though you don't remember much of anything from release to cuddling in bed, you remember how it ends, with you cuddling into his chest once more, murmuring sweet nothings of a never-ending perfect day. For once in your life, throughout recent stress and obligations, you had gotten a good night's sleep.
And of course, the one bit you would never forget.
"Mi, I love you."
In hushed whisper, "I love you too, Kui Xian."
It's all clear in memory, and likely you were to remember it for a long time still. Yet with so much distance and so little time, it was as if it was all fading away.
- Kui Xian, call me later tonight? I have free time!
- Ah, okay. Lemme just play a quick game of Starcraft and I'll give you a call!
And though you were surprised that he actually remembered to call amidst Starcraft, fifteen minutes hadn't nearly been enough to make up for the distance apart.
Singing to yourself reminded you of him, so though you used to do it before having met him, you do it now more than ever. Sometimes they're songs relevant to your mood: sappy, loaded with love lyrics, aimed to ease your heart's pangs. But most times you sang songs you'd sung along with him, duets, ballads, anything that he'd sung before - because even if the lyrics were irrelevant, the memories alone made them more meaningful to you than any other song.
- If you have time later, call me? I miss you.
But he never called. And still, you wonder if it's because he never found the time or because he didn't miss you in turn.
You still long for the day to see him again. You don't know if he longs for that day as much as you do. You don't know if he hurts without you as much as you hurt without him. And upon much reflection, you conclude you don't really know much of anything.
The only thing you do know, for sure, is that one day had not been a lie.
But the rest?
Perhaps.
A perfect day.
So clear.
Yet so faded.
But not faded at all.
A dream?