round 06, challenge five: entry #03
Title: Intervals
Fandom and Pairing: Infinite, Myungsoo/Sungjong, Myungsoo/Sungyeol
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 996
Prompt/s Used: poem
Summary: What lies between us? Somebody else's bed.
Warnings: none.
Buam Galbi Restaurant, Incheon Arts High School Reunion, 8:57 PM
Myungsoo has finally learned how to dress, which everyone is excited to see, although anyone with sense can tell it’s too formal for the occasion. A suit is safe and reliable-Sungjong knows, he’s the one who taught Myungsoo how to dress for these kinds of things, or at least told him what not to wear. But he doesn’t expect to see Myungsoo alone.
“I thought you were bringing a friend,” he says. Myungsoo’s smile comes out lopsided.
“He’s out of town.”
Ah, it explains so much.
“There there,” Sungjong says. He’ll never understand why Myungsoo latches onto others, but maybe that’s why they’re exes. And maybe it has to do with the way everybody eyes him silently now. There are a few adventurous ones, mostly women, but Myungsoo is the same; he hasn’t changed. It’s a disappointing revelation, and the women are not the only ones to be disappointed; Sungjong is the one who bears the brunt of his defensive clinging.
“Get me out of here,” he says, finally.
They sit in Sungjong’s car, trying to process the festivities like old film: grainy, blurry, unfocused. They can hear the music and smell the smoke like a storm outside, gusty and insistent.
“I wanted Sungyeol to come,” Myungsoo says. “He would have been the life of the party.”
“I’m sure,” Sungjong says. They’ve never met, but Myungsoo’s taste is predictable. Sungjong has already compared himself to Sungyeol-or at least his impression of him. No matter what standard, one comes out lacking, the other overqualified. He sneers at the uselessness of it.
“Very sure?” Myungsoo asks, and leans in close. Sungjong shudders at his words, the inescapable direction of his logic. Myungsoo always means to be gentle. He lowers his voice to silence. I miss him, he mouths over and over as his fingers flutter beneath Sungjong’s jacket, into the gaps between each button of his shirt.
Sungjong’s Apartment, 10:21 AM
“You must think I’m a creep,” Myungsoo says when he wakes up.
“Not at all,” Sungjong says with an artless first smile. His second smile is calibrated between polite and considerate, and it’s enough to get Myungsoo out of bed.
Sungjong receives a text message two days later: is it okay to come over? He’s prepared for much worse, but all Myungsoo does is cuddle and hold, like a jacket he can’t shake off.
The third time, he’s waiting outside Sungjong’s front door. He makes no apology, and as soon as he slides into bed, he opens his mouth and begins to talk. Sungyeol’s smile, his lips, his legs. All the crazy things he does.
“I want to hear what he sounds like,” Sungjong says. He doesn’t, really, but he knows that Myungsoo does. He reaches for his phone, still in his pocket in his pants on the floor. He plays back all the messages that he’s saved in his inbox. This Sungyeol person seems to be as easily distracted as Myungsoo. There are hours of phone-tag stored away. Sungjong compares himself again to Sungyeol, and finds himself neither lacking nor overqualified after all. He is merely indifferent.
Sungjong understands why Myungsoo drops by. Sometimes it’s not enough to pine for somebody; love by its very nature must be shared.
The fourth time, Myungsoo calls properly like he should, and asks Sungjong out for dinner. He declines.
“I’m sorry,” Myungsoo says.
“I know.”
“Just let me make it up to you?”
Sungjong’s eyes are burning. They feel like lasers. He stares at the wall and his gaze punches through. All he has in him is a very worn soft spot for an old friend.
“You didn’t tell him?” he asks.
“He’s not back yet.”
So much guilt. Sungjong can feel it, seething at his restraint.
“Let’s do a movie instead,” he says. “Your place.”
Myungsoo’s Apartment, 4:30 PM
They watch Sherlock. It’s cute and predictable with just enough action to make them jump. They sit on the floor, arms around their knees with a bag of rice crackers in a bowl between them.
“Oh. Wow.” Myungsoo stares with his mouth open. He nods at the screen, applauding the director’s effort. He sees something that makes him stop. He grabs Sungjong’s thigh. Stop the movie, he says.
“Why?”
“I found it.”
Sungjong grabs the remote control and rewinds. Watson walking down a street-Watson walking backwards up a street now, panning in reverse through a doorway, Sherlock exposed on his bed, his arms shackled to the posts and a cushion covering his sex.
“What?”
Myungsoo claps his hands once. It’s like a magic trick, a signal to attention. “You need to set me up like that. Tomorrow night, at my place.” He grabs another handful of chips and feeds them into his mouth.
Sungjong grabs several chips of his own. “And why would I do that?”
Myungsoo looks at him. “Because,” he says. “Sungyeol comes back tomorrow night.”
“Are you sure about this?” Sungjong asks. “He’s not going to drop the key down the sink, is he?” Myungsoo tugs on the cuffs.
“Oh,” he says. “Actually, yeah, that-”
Sungjong gives him a look. “Should I keep the spare, then?” Myungsoo laughs, a big, embarrassed guffaw. There are goosebumps all over his skin.
“That’s-”
“Don’t shift, you’ll move the cushion.” Myungsoo looks down, distracted, and Sungjong takes the opportunity to palm his phone. “One sec.”
In the bathroom he deletes all the text messages Myungsoo has sent him. He accesses the contact list and scrolls through, searching for his name. His thumb hovers over the ‘delete’ button. He stares at the display. Then he pulls out his own phone and inputs Sungyeol’s contact information.
He walks back into the bedroom and places the phone back on the stand.
“What time does he arrive?” he asks.
“7:30. Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out.”
Sungjong smiles. “Go get him, tiger.”
Fandom and Pairing: Infinite, Myungsoo/Sungjong, Myungsoo/Sungyeol
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 996
Prompt/s Used: poem
Summary: What lies between us? Somebody else's bed.
Warnings: none.
Buam Galbi Restaurant, Incheon Arts High School Reunion, 8:57 PM
Myungsoo has finally learned how to dress, which everyone is excited to see, although anyone with sense can tell it’s too formal for the occasion. A suit is safe and reliable-Sungjong knows, he’s the one who taught Myungsoo how to dress for these kinds of things, or at least told him what not to wear. But he doesn’t expect to see Myungsoo alone.
“I thought you were bringing a friend,” he says. Myungsoo’s smile comes out lopsided.
“He’s out of town.”
Ah, it explains so much.
“There there,” Sungjong says. He’ll never understand why Myungsoo latches onto others, but maybe that’s why they’re exes. And maybe it has to do with the way everybody eyes him silently now. There are a few adventurous ones, mostly women, but Myungsoo is the same; he hasn’t changed. It’s a disappointing revelation, and the women are not the only ones to be disappointed; Sungjong is the one who bears the brunt of his defensive clinging.
“Get me out of here,” he says, finally.
They sit in Sungjong’s car, trying to process the festivities like old film: grainy, blurry, unfocused. They can hear the music and smell the smoke like a storm outside, gusty and insistent.
“I wanted Sungyeol to come,” Myungsoo says. “He would have been the life of the party.”
“I’m sure,” Sungjong says. They’ve never met, but Myungsoo’s taste is predictable. Sungjong has already compared himself to Sungyeol-or at least his impression of him. No matter what standard, one comes out lacking, the other overqualified. He sneers at the uselessness of it.
“Very sure?” Myungsoo asks, and leans in close. Sungjong shudders at his words, the inescapable direction of his logic. Myungsoo always means to be gentle. He lowers his voice to silence. I miss him, he mouths over and over as his fingers flutter beneath Sungjong’s jacket, into the gaps between each button of his shirt.
Sungjong’s Apartment, 10:21 AM
“You must think I’m a creep,” Myungsoo says when he wakes up.
“Not at all,” Sungjong says with an artless first smile. His second smile is calibrated between polite and considerate, and it’s enough to get Myungsoo out of bed.
Sungjong receives a text message two days later: is it okay to come over? He’s prepared for much worse, but all Myungsoo does is cuddle and hold, like a jacket he can’t shake off.
The third time, he’s waiting outside Sungjong’s front door. He makes no apology, and as soon as he slides into bed, he opens his mouth and begins to talk. Sungyeol’s smile, his lips, his legs. All the crazy things he does.
“I want to hear what he sounds like,” Sungjong says. He doesn’t, really, but he knows that Myungsoo does. He reaches for his phone, still in his pocket in his pants on the floor. He plays back all the messages that he’s saved in his inbox. This Sungyeol person seems to be as easily distracted as Myungsoo. There are hours of phone-tag stored away. Sungjong compares himself again to Sungyeol, and finds himself neither lacking nor overqualified after all. He is merely indifferent.
Sungjong understands why Myungsoo drops by. Sometimes it’s not enough to pine for somebody; love by its very nature must be shared.
The fourth time, Myungsoo calls properly like he should, and asks Sungjong out for dinner. He declines.
“I’m sorry,” Myungsoo says.
“I know.”
“Just let me make it up to you?”
Sungjong’s eyes are burning. They feel like lasers. He stares at the wall and his gaze punches through. All he has in him is a very worn soft spot for an old friend.
“You didn’t tell him?” he asks.
“He’s not back yet.”
So much guilt. Sungjong can feel it, seething at his restraint.
“Let’s do a movie instead,” he says. “Your place.”
Myungsoo’s Apartment, 4:30 PM
They watch Sherlock. It’s cute and predictable with just enough action to make them jump. They sit on the floor, arms around their knees with a bag of rice crackers in a bowl between them.
“Oh. Wow.” Myungsoo stares with his mouth open. He nods at the screen, applauding the director’s effort. He sees something that makes him stop. He grabs Sungjong’s thigh. Stop the movie, he says.
“Why?”
“I found it.”
Sungjong grabs the remote control and rewinds. Watson walking down a street-Watson walking backwards up a street now, panning in reverse through a doorway, Sherlock exposed on his bed, his arms shackled to the posts and a cushion covering his sex.
“What?”
Myungsoo claps his hands once. It’s like a magic trick, a signal to attention. “You need to set me up like that. Tomorrow night, at my place.” He grabs another handful of chips and feeds them into his mouth.
Sungjong grabs several chips of his own. “And why would I do that?”
Myungsoo looks at him. “Because,” he says. “Sungyeol comes back tomorrow night.”
“Are you sure about this?” Sungjong asks. “He’s not going to drop the key down the sink, is he?” Myungsoo tugs on the cuffs.
“Oh,” he says. “Actually, yeah, that-”
Sungjong gives him a look. “Should I keep the spare, then?” Myungsoo laughs, a big, embarrassed guffaw. There are goosebumps all over his skin.
“That’s-”
“Don’t shift, you’ll move the cushion.” Myungsoo looks down, distracted, and Sungjong takes the opportunity to palm his phone. “One sec.”
In the bathroom he deletes all the text messages Myungsoo has sent him. He accesses the contact list and scrolls through, searching for his name. His thumb hovers over the ‘delete’ button. He stares at the display. Then he pulls out his own phone and inputs Sungyeol’s contact information.
He walks back into the bedroom and places the phone back on the stand.
“What time does he arrive?” he asks.
“7:30. Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out.”
Sungjong smiles. “Go get him, tiger.”