all the things you forget (Flashfic Challenge 24: Half A Conversation)
Title: all the things you forget
Author: florentineeggs
Word count: 735.
Concrit?: yes please (:
Pairing: yunho/ofc. and strong strong strong undercurrents of yunho/jaejoong.
Rating: G
Summary: we'll never have paris. but the way it slipped passed your open-clasped fingers, that was all your fault.
Author's Notes: Everyone knows what Jaejoong looks like, right?
& pov is messy but it's yunho.
paris is too romantic for jung yunho; all nighttime stars that spin on soleils and foreign sounding words that roll past tinted pink lips straight into smitten ears, fearless streetbirds that will kiss you given the chance and melted icecream smeared across little fingers and little mouths.
it's all wrong and stiff in the elbows and tight in the shoulders, but this is where he meets her.
she's all smiles and accented korean, short straight black hair layered so it hits her jaw at all the right angles, deepset eyes and skinny legs. she crashes into a cameraman their second day there and apologises in four different languages before she speaks something recognisable. her face is hard like ice until she laughs, and changmin approves of her waistline almost right away.
you love her instantly, because she looks a little like something familiar but you can't put your finger on it, and you don't want to. you hear yoochun whispering in the middle of the night, she's too much like you, and you turn around in your bed until you convince yourself you were only dreaming and never think of it again. the thought of figuring out exactly who yoochun was talking to terrifies you, and you think of the way her sundress flirted off her legs just right until the thought fades.
you never expect to see her again, but you do.
a whirlwind of surprised greetings and coffee dates and movies in the dark and arguments with the company and suitcases and press conferences and one uncomfortable night where yunho braces his torso on top of hers and when she looked up at him and smiled with her lips pressed together he saw someone else and called the wrong name, except she forgave him, because he suspects that she knows exactly who yoochun was talking about that night, and then the nights after where he holds her hand in the dark with their beds pressed together and that's all he does; she is the one who proposes to him, two years later.
you won't say no.
you don't say no.
sm says no, you provide such excellent arguments that changmin starts taking notes. there's a wedding in secret, with super junior and family and dbsk gets guest of honor. that's it. your father is proud, your mother is happy, and, when jaejoong's mother comes up to you, she's crying. you pat her back and laugh like a man, but when she looks you in the eyes and she's speechless, you cry too. you apologise to her, because it feels like you should, and it's the right thing to say because she finally leaves.
when she first walked down the aisle, heechul looked like he was about to point out the obvious except donghae looked up suddenly and mouthed words that yunho couldn't see, and then heechul looks at yunho and doesn't say anything. his gaze, instead, sweeps across the room and stops somewhere to the right of yoochun and left of changmin, and it stops there. yunho doesn't look. she's beautiful, he thinks, he says later to hyukjae. she looks a lot like-- and junsu slaps a palm over hyukjae's mouth. they look at each other, and whatever messages get passed through there are indecipherable to yunho.
the day of the wedding, her hair is barely past her shoulders and dyed a ridiculous golden yellow, waves permed into it by her mother. it's short. very short. her eyes are rimmed with black liner that's a bit messy, and looking into her eyes reminds you of award ceremonies where you win everything you want. you love her hair like this. you tell her. she looks at you, smiles with her teeth, and says, i know. you mean it though. she says again, i know. you touch the base of her neck, where the jewellery is strangely gothic and kind of manly but it suits her, suits the way he wants her to look.
she takes your hand into hers and says, i hope you never figure out just who it is i look like.
you forget all about paris and ferris wheel rides and standing on bridge railings with the wind fearlessly at your ears, and, perhaps accidentally but most likely not, trample a heart in the process.
i won't, you say. and the whole world has no other choice but to believe you.
Author: florentineeggs
Word count: 735.
Concrit?: yes please (:
Pairing: yunho/ofc. and strong strong strong undercurrents of yunho/jaejoong.
Rating: G
Summary: we'll never have paris. but the way it slipped passed your open-clasped fingers, that was all your fault.
Author's Notes: Everyone knows what Jaejoong looks like, right?
& pov is messy but it's yunho.
paris is too romantic for jung yunho; all nighttime stars that spin on soleils and foreign sounding words that roll past tinted pink lips straight into smitten ears, fearless streetbirds that will kiss you given the chance and melted icecream smeared across little fingers and little mouths.
it's all wrong and stiff in the elbows and tight in the shoulders, but this is where he meets her.
she's all smiles and accented korean, short straight black hair layered so it hits her jaw at all the right angles, deepset eyes and skinny legs. she crashes into a cameraman their second day there and apologises in four different languages before she speaks something recognisable. her face is hard like ice until she laughs, and changmin approves of her waistline almost right away.
you love her instantly, because she looks a little like something familiar but you can't put your finger on it, and you don't want to. you hear yoochun whispering in the middle of the night, she's too much like you, and you turn around in your bed until you convince yourself you were only dreaming and never think of it again. the thought of figuring out exactly who yoochun was talking to terrifies you, and you think of the way her sundress flirted off her legs just right until the thought fades.
you never expect to see her again, but you do.
a whirlwind of surprised greetings and coffee dates and movies in the dark and arguments with the company and suitcases and press conferences and one uncomfortable night where yunho braces his torso on top of hers and when she looked up at him and smiled with her lips pressed together he saw someone else and called the wrong name, except she forgave him, because he suspects that she knows exactly who yoochun was talking about that night, and then the nights after where he holds her hand in the dark with their beds pressed together and that's all he does; she is the one who proposes to him, two years later.
you won't say no.
you don't say no.
sm says no, you provide such excellent arguments that changmin starts taking notes. there's a wedding in secret, with super junior and family and dbsk gets guest of honor. that's it. your father is proud, your mother is happy, and, when jaejoong's mother comes up to you, she's crying. you pat her back and laugh like a man, but when she looks you in the eyes and she's speechless, you cry too. you apologise to her, because it feels like you should, and it's the right thing to say because she finally leaves.
when she first walked down the aisle, heechul looked like he was about to point out the obvious except donghae looked up suddenly and mouthed words that yunho couldn't see, and then heechul looks at yunho and doesn't say anything. his gaze, instead, sweeps across the room and stops somewhere to the right of yoochun and left of changmin, and it stops there. yunho doesn't look. she's beautiful, he thinks, he says later to hyukjae. she looks a lot like-- and junsu slaps a palm over hyukjae's mouth. they look at each other, and whatever messages get passed through there are indecipherable to yunho.
the day of the wedding, her hair is barely past her shoulders and dyed a ridiculous golden yellow, waves permed into it by her mother. it's short. very short. her eyes are rimmed with black liner that's a bit messy, and looking into her eyes reminds you of award ceremonies where you win everything you want. you love her hair like this. you tell her. she looks at you, smiles with her teeth, and says, i know. you mean it though. she says again, i know. you touch the base of her neck, where the jewellery is strangely gothic and kind of manly but it suits her, suits the way he wants her to look.
she takes your hand into hers and says, i hope you never figure out just who it is i look like.
you forget all about paris and ferris wheel rides and standing on bridge railings with the wind fearlessly at your ears, and, perhaps accidentally but most likely not, trample a heart in the process.
i won't, you say. and the whole world has no other choice but to believe you.