a girl came by, she had eyes like the rising tide
A GIRL CAME BY, SHE HAD EYES LIKE THE RISING TIDE
oneshot, 1250+ words, PG
fluff/romance, myungzy
A/N: a very late christmas present for em, who gave me so i will wait, anticipate, every last minute that we have to celebrate as a prompt. so you have a little bit of that, and a little bit of suzy's answers about relationships in some interviews. this is my first time writing fluff, so of course, i'm terribly sorry. (oh, this hasn't been beta-ed. so. yes.)
“I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.”
― Daphne du Maurier
Myungsoo fell in love in an explosion of kaleidoscope lights, blustering screams, snow, and sheen, silvery paper shaped like stars on New Year’s Eve (he knew it would happen to him one day, first love, and he had been studying it carefully like he did with all things he wished for or didn’t understand). It was violent, red, blinding, suffocating, hard to describe. Love at first sight (or second, or third, he had seen her before, but he hadn’t really seen her before) was harsh and damaging, and he felt stripped of his old, hopelessly romantic soul.
It happened in a matter of seconds, among too many people, in a place he didn’t want to be. The countdown went 7, 6, 5, and bottles of shimmery champagne popped, and his body was pushed and pulled in a sea of teen idols and cameras on an unfortunately small stage. 4, 3, 2, and Sungyeol vanished from his side, and Myungsoo felt helpless all of a sudden, and the fans screamed louder, 1, and he closed his eyes when the first fireworks cracked somewhere above them (make a wish, someone whispered). He opened his eyes to see the New Year, and Suzy, Suzy that had a last name he didn’t know, and a song Sungyeol had been listening so much that he even caught himself chanting he didn’t need a man. Several times.
Suzy was ordinary and very human - she wasn’t a pink-haired ninja, or a tough thief with a particularly interesting ability regarding sea charts, or the innocent-looking girl he continuously talked about in interviews - those girls lived on a corner of his head, made up of dreams and fantasy. Suzy, no. She had hardly ever been in his head at all, until a crowded ice-coated stage brought them together. Her name was foreign and her clothes were expensive, but her eyes weren’t chocolate brown or golden brown, or hazel, or special - just brown, plain and simple, and so ordinary he instantly fell in love. Nation’s First Love, he reminded himself, thinking it wasn’t fair that his first love had to be shared with an entire nation. It stung his freshly stolen heart in a bad way.
“Happy New Year!” her voice was lost amidst the cheering crowd, and she even reached her hand to pat his arm in a friendly way. But her hand lingered, maybe a millisecond more than it would be acceptable for idol relationships, and his first love was suddenly painfully bitter. He didn’t understand it yet, not entirely, but he could feel bits of his heart shattering apart, crushed by the uncanny reality. She was Suzy, he was L - they weren’t real, they couldn’t be, and instead of feuding families and Italian balconies they had fans and dorm rooms.
He tried to say something back, I liked your performance (he didn’t actually watch), Sungyeol is a big fan (I think he has a crush on you, but he has a crush on everyone) - but he found himself crouched down, among a forest of thin legs and questionable shoes. Suzy was there too, her hand firmly holding his wrist, an apologetic smile dancing on her lips. No one bothered to look at them twice, idols kept secrets and cameras couldn’t find them, and Myungsoo was uncomfortably stepped on a few times (he almost wished they were still standing).
“What are we doing here?” he asked, and the stage lights turned everything red as more fireworks exploded, and Suzy probably never looked more beautiful - and even that beautiful and red, something about her was still remarkably familiar. Red suited her, suited first loves, sharp and blinding and warm and ordinary.
“You look cold.”
It was probably the thin layers of cotton he was wearing, or the blue shade on his half-frozen lips, or the redness of his nose - too many things to give him away. He was desperate for his bed, and five hours of an entirely different life, away from cold reality, from his newfound stolen/broken heart status and the realization his first love was an impossible girl. And Suzy, impossible, unreachable, idol Suzy, her knees touching his, wasn’t exactly giving him her heart; she gave him her scarf instead.
The wool smelled like a whole street bordered by cherry trees, and the scent suffocated him like a sweet, sinful embrace. It was warmish and soft, as scarves should be, and he stared at her, mending heart beating fast, as she tied the fabric neatly around his neck, carefully wrapping him up. First love wasn’t at all how he pictured, it was much more painful and raw than in fiction, and more irrational too - it hurt, and it felt good. Suzy went as far as fixing his hair, muttering a comforting “there, there” under her breath. The familiarity of her touch made his chest ache harder, and he wished, albeit for a split of second, that they could stay a little longer in their very own private forest. It was a depressing thought, bruising, even, and he let go of it as soon as Suzy let go of him.
“We should go back,” to the real world, the surface, where they would stand within an acceptable distant, and politely ignore each other (he would have to ignore a bleeding heart, too). She was still every shade of first love red, and pink and sweet and ordinarily pretty, in a way he didn’t want to forget, his Suzy, the girl he never had, would have, the love that never was, first love, first heartbreak - and so he put his hands together over his eyes, and he never thought of words to say, but he pushed his finger over an invisible shutter, and clicked an invisible picture, the most beautiful he had ever taken. Myungsoo always thought ordinary things could become extraordinary when seen through the lenses of a camera - even one that didn’t exist - and he was right. Something changed in Suzy’s smile, and she took a picture of him too. Everything dawdled, the seconds and the lights, and the fireworks were over and it was time to go back to work, New Year’s celebrations were gone, and his first love was leaving.
Suzy went back to being Nation's First Love; he went back to being L. It lasted seven minutes - seven minutes in heaven, with pictures taken in a fantasy world where legs were as tall as trees instead of kissing, his heart stolen, broken and mended within the 420 seconds they’ve shared. The hollow space where his heart used to be was filled with other, more important things, like paper stars, the smell of cherry trees, snow, New Year celebration, a black scarf, strands of her hair that got tangled on his clothes, and his sore first love.
(They met again weeks later, this time in a corridor full of dressing rooms and busy idols, and Sungyeol teased him, and Myungsoo gave her the scarf back, and she gave him her group’s latest album. Inside in messy handwriting was his name, his real name, To Myungsoo, stay warm, love, Suzy, and a picture, a real picture, of the face he photographed with his mind, ordinary brown eyes looking back at him. She kept his heart, he kept his first love, still raw and cruel, but love, in every way.)
oneshot, 1250+ words, PG
fluff/romance, myungzy
A/N: a very late christmas present for em, who gave me so i will wait, anticipate, every last minute that we have to celebrate as a prompt. so you have a little bit of that, and a little bit of suzy's answers about relationships in some interviews. this is my first time writing fluff, so of course, i'm terribly sorry. (oh, this hasn't been beta-ed. so. yes.)
“I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.”
― Daphne du Maurier
Myungsoo fell in love in an explosion of kaleidoscope lights, blustering screams, snow, and sheen, silvery paper shaped like stars on New Year’s Eve (he knew it would happen to him one day, first love, and he had been studying it carefully like he did with all things he wished for or didn’t understand). It was violent, red, blinding, suffocating, hard to describe. Love at first sight (or second, or third, he had seen her before, but he hadn’t really seen her before) was harsh and damaging, and he felt stripped of his old, hopelessly romantic soul.
It happened in a matter of seconds, among too many people, in a place he didn’t want to be. The countdown went 7, 6, 5, and bottles of shimmery champagne popped, and his body was pushed and pulled in a sea of teen idols and cameras on an unfortunately small stage. 4, 3, 2, and Sungyeol vanished from his side, and Myungsoo felt helpless all of a sudden, and the fans screamed louder, 1, and he closed his eyes when the first fireworks cracked somewhere above them (make a wish, someone whispered). He opened his eyes to see the New Year, and Suzy, Suzy that had a last name he didn’t know, and a song Sungyeol had been listening so much that he even caught himself chanting he didn’t need a man. Several times.
Suzy was ordinary and very human - she wasn’t a pink-haired ninja, or a tough thief with a particularly interesting ability regarding sea charts, or the innocent-looking girl he continuously talked about in interviews - those girls lived on a corner of his head, made up of dreams and fantasy. Suzy, no. She had hardly ever been in his head at all, until a crowded ice-coated stage brought them together. Her name was foreign and her clothes were expensive, but her eyes weren’t chocolate brown or golden brown, or hazel, or special - just brown, plain and simple, and so ordinary he instantly fell in love. Nation’s First Love, he reminded himself, thinking it wasn’t fair that his first love had to be shared with an entire nation. It stung his freshly stolen heart in a bad way.
“Happy New Year!” her voice was lost amidst the cheering crowd, and she even reached her hand to pat his arm in a friendly way. But her hand lingered, maybe a millisecond more than it would be acceptable for idol relationships, and his first love was suddenly painfully bitter. He didn’t understand it yet, not entirely, but he could feel bits of his heart shattering apart, crushed by the uncanny reality. She was Suzy, he was L - they weren’t real, they couldn’t be, and instead of feuding families and Italian balconies they had fans and dorm rooms.
He tried to say something back, I liked your performance (he didn’t actually watch), Sungyeol is a big fan (I think he has a crush on you, but he has a crush on everyone) - but he found himself crouched down, among a forest of thin legs and questionable shoes. Suzy was there too, her hand firmly holding his wrist, an apologetic smile dancing on her lips. No one bothered to look at them twice, idols kept secrets and cameras couldn’t find them, and Myungsoo was uncomfortably stepped on a few times (he almost wished they were still standing).
“What are we doing here?” he asked, and the stage lights turned everything red as more fireworks exploded, and Suzy probably never looked more beautiful - and even that beautiful and red, something about her was still remarkably familiar. Red suited her, suited first loves, sharp and blinding and warm and ordinary.
“You look cold.”
It was probably the thin layers of cotton he was wearing, or the blue shade on his half-frozen lips, or the redness of his nose - too many things to give him away. He was desperate for his bed, and five hours of an entirely different life, away from cold reality, from his newfound stolen/broken heart status and the realization his first love was an impossible girl. And Suzy, impossible, unreachable, idol Suzy, her knees touching his, wasn’t exactly giving him her heart; she gave him her scarf instead.
The wool smelled like a whole street bordered by cherry trees, and the scent suffocated him like a sweet, sinful embrace. It was warmish and soft, as scarves should be, and he stared at her, mending heart beating fast, as she tied the fabric neatly around his neck, carefully wrapping him up. First love wasn’t at all how he pictured, it was much more painful and raw than in fiction, and more irrational too - it hurt, and it felt good. Suzy went as far as fixing his hair, muttering a comforting “there, there” under her breath. The familiarity of her touch made his chest ache harder, and he wished, albeit for a split of second, that they could stay a little longer in their very own private forest. It was a depressing thought, bruising, even, and he let go of it as soon as Suzy let go of him.
“We should go back,” to the real world, the surface, where they would stand within an acceptable distant, and politely ignore each other (he would have to ignore a bleeding heart, too). She was still every shade of first love red, and pink and sweet and ordinarily pretty, in a way he didn’t want to forget, his Suzy, the girl he never had, would have, the love that never was, first love, first heartbreak - and so he put his hands together over his eyes, and he never thought of words to say, but he pushed his finger over an invisible shutter, and clicked an invisible picture, the most beautiful he had ever taken. Myungsoo always thought ordinary things could become extraordinary when seen through the lenses of a camera - even one that didn’t exist - and he was right. Something changed in Suzy’s smile, and she took a picture of him too. Everything dawdled, the seconds and the lights, and the fireworks were over and it was time to go back to work, New Year’s celebrations were gone, and his first love was leaving.
Suzy went back to being Nation's First Love; he went back to being L. It lasted seven minutes - seven minutes in heaven, with pictures taken in a fantasy world where legs were as tall as trees instead of kissing, his heart stolen, broken and mended within the 420 seconds they’ve shared. The hollow space where his heart used to be was filled with other, more important things, like paper stars, the smell of cherry trees, snow, New Year celebration, a black scarf, strands of her hair that got tangled on his clothes, and his sore first love.
(They met again weeks later, this time in a corridor full of dressing rooms and busy idols, and Sungyeol teased him, and Myungsoo gave her the scarf back, and she gave him her group’s latest album. Inside in messy handwriting was his name, his real name, To Myungsoo, stay warm, love, Suzy, and a picture, a real picture, of the face he photographed with his mind, ordinary brown eyes looking back at him. She kept his heart, he kept his first love, still raw and cruel, but love, in every way.)