brise
Title: brise
Fandom: dbsk
Pairing: park yoochun x kim junsu
Rated: g
Words: 403
Summary: in which yoochun doesn't understand the concept of beds.
the breeze carries in the faint scent of white roses from the neighbors terrace. all papers not captured under the arms and head of the man asleep on the table skitter to the floor, disturbing the cat curled up asleep. it moves long strands of hair across his face, causing him to stir with a groan. there's drool on the side of his face and he becomes aware of it as he sits up, wiping it away lazily with the back of a hand. puppy-dog eyes have a hard time opening until he's dropped his hand down to the table and it feels like he's been burned. blinking open, he sees the cup of coffee, the tented note, and the fresh pack of cigarettes waiting for him. he snorts at the effort while picking up the tiny note. rubs away sleep with his free hand to bring the words in to focus.
"tu es bête."
of all the minimal french he's picked up since the move, these are words he knows and they turn the offhanded snort in to a loud laugh. he sets it off to the side with other folded bits of paper. reminders about what "la table" and "le lit" are for. logical argument that he'll ruin his back if he keeps this up and the illogical one that the cats will rebel if he keeps sleeping in their favorite spot. they started out long-winded and he finds it amusing how, when stacked chronologically, they almost form a perfect little pyramid. rambling reduced down to the simple "you're stupid."
the coffee goes cold and the cigarettes remain unopened. the floor is now littered with pages of scribbles and fractures of lyrics, papers with a single word on them and some with too many to read, tiny folded love notes and pencils and old paper starbucks cups. junsu steps around all of these things and the lazy cat as he makes his way to the window. the warm breeze from the morning has taken on a bitter chilled edge and he's annoyed to find the flat colder than it'd been outside just then. he doesn't even notice the sleeping form on the couch until he's tidied up. lips twitch up in to a small smile and he rips off a corner of one of the papers. sits at the table and begins to scribble down the meaning of "le canapé".
Fandom: dbsk
Pairing: park yoochun x kim junsu
Rated: g
Words: 403
Summary: in which yoochun doesn't understand the concept of beds.
the breeze carries in the faint scent of white roses from the neighbors terrace. all papers not captured under the arms and head of the man asleep on the table skitter to the floor, disturbing the cat curled up asleep. it moves long strands of hair across his face, causing him to stir with a groan. there's drool on the side of his face and he becomes aware of it as he sits up, wiping it away lazily with the back of a hand. puppy-dog eyes have a hard time opening until he's dropped his hand down to the table and it feels like he's been burned. blinking open, he sees the cup of coffee, the tented note, and the fresh pack of cigarettes waiting for him. he snorts at the effort while picking up the tiny note. rubs away sleep with his free hand to bring the words in to focus.
"tu es bête."
of all the minimal french he's picked up since the move, these are words he knows and they turn the offhanded snort in to a loud laugh. he sets it off to the side with other folded bits of paper. reminders about what "la table" and "le lit" are for. logical argument that he'll ruin his back if he keeps this up and the illogical one that the cats will rebel if he keeps sleeping in their favorite spot. they started out long-winded and he finds it amusing how, when stacked chronologically, they almost form a perfect little pyramid. rambling reduced down to the simple "you're stupid."
the coffee goes cold and the cigarettes remain unopened. the floor is now littered with pages of scribbles and fractures of lyrics, papers with a single word on them and some with too many to read, tiny folded love notes and pencils and old paper starbucks cups. junsu steps around all of these things and the lazy cat as he makes his way to the window. the warm breeze from the morning has taken on a bitter chilled edge and he's annoyed to find the flat colder than it'd been outside just then. he doesn't even notice the sleeping form on the couch until he's tidied up. lips twitch up in to a small smile and he rips off a corner of one of the papers. sits at the table and begins to scribble down the meaning of "le canapé".