Scrapping for Joy (flashfic challege 12: slow dance)
Title: Scrapping for Joy
Author: thevignette (fic comm inlightof )
Word count: 503 (excluding quotes from the poem)
Concrit?: Sure
Pairing: Junsu/Changmin
A/N: Accompanies Playback, which I wrote for flashfic challenge 10, and involves death.
Scrapping for Joy
Minsu | 503 words | pg-13
A slow dance
between the couch and dinning room table, at the end
of the party, while the person we love has gone -
7 o’clock in the morning.
Junsu wakes up, rolls out of bed and walks to the bathroom with his eyes half-shut sleepily. He nearly walks into the doorframe, and then manages to safely complete the routine of washing up, brushing his teeth and getting dressed.
He only becomes fully awake when he’s making coffee in the kitchen. He drinks his share, rinses the cup, leaving it in the sink, and carefully pours the rest of the black hot liquid in the kettle into a clean cup. He only adds a little sugar - Changmin doesn’t like his coffee too sweet. He leaves the cup on the corner of the dining table, smoke curling into the air delicately.
Four years ago, on this day, at this time, they are making love: Changmin wakes up to Junsu pressed against him, mouth hot and hungry against his neck. Changmin makes a desperate noise from inside his throat and Junsu feels the vibrations all the way down to his toes. It’s like this, one of them moves and the other feels it intensified. This is how Junsu knows that they were meant to be. Junsu arches when Changmin’s fingers circle slowly down his spine, and doesn’t give a damn even when he realises they are both going to be late for work.
Four years on, now, Junsu wears his shoes, and locks the door. When he leaves the house, the coffee is slowly getting cold.
Two men in the middle of the room. When I dance with him,
one of my great loves, he is absolutely human,
and when he turns to dip me -
Junsu stops at a shop window when he’s out for lunch, and peers in at one of the cakes displayed prominently. He wonders if Changmin will like it. His breath fogs the glass for a brief moment and when he sees the girl behind the counter notice his presence, he turns away quickly and continues walking down the crowded street.
Or I step on his foot because we are both leading,
I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer.
7 o’clock in the evening.
Junsu comes home, takes off his shoes, and changes out of his work clothes. He sets the dining table for two - matching sets of forks, knifes, spoons, plates, for a matching set of people.
At the edge of the dining table, the coffee is cold and untouched. Like always, he brings it to the kitchen and empties it into the sink, watching the black liquid swirl before disappearing into the pipes.
It’s a special day. He unpacks food from boxes, and sets it carefully between the two placemats on the table. It’s Changmin’s birthday. Junsu sits down at his side of the table and starts to eat, slowly and methodically, glancing up once in a while at the empty chair across from him.
He clears the table when he’s done, and plays Changmin’s favourite song from the stereo, the bittersweet notes straining from the speakers and bouncing off the walls of the apartment. Junsu smiles, holding out a hand, an invitation - shall we dance?
It goes like this ever since Changmin left. On his birthday, Junsu sets the table for two, brings home Changmin’s favourite food, plays Changmin’s favourite song and shares a dance with his dead lover.
This is the almond grove
in the dark slow dance.
It is what we should be doing right now. Scrapping
for joy. The haiku and honey. The orange and orangutang slow dance.
Author: thevignette (fic comm inlightof )
Word count: 503 (excluding quotes from the poem)
Concrit?: Sure
Pairing: Junsu/Changmin
A/N: Accompanies Playback, which I wrote for flashfic challenge 10, and involves death.
Scrapping for Joy
Minsu | 503 words | pg-13
A slow dance
between the couch and dinning room table, at the end
of the party, while the person we love has gone -
7 o’clock in the morning.
Junsu wakes up, rolls out of bed and walks to the bathroom with his eyes half-shut sleepily. He nearly walks into the doorframe, and then manages to safely complete the routine of washing up, brushing his teeth and getting dressed.
He only becomes fully awake when he’s making coffee in the kitchen. He drinks his share, rinses the cup, leaving it in the sink, and carefully pours the rest of the black hot liquid in the kettle into a clean cup. He only adds a little sugar - Changmin doesn’t like his coffee too sweet. He leaves the cup on the corner of the dining table, smoke curling into the air delicately.
Four years ago, on this day, at this time, they are making love: Changmin wakes up to Junsu pressed against him, mouth hot and hungry against his neck. Changmin makes a desperate noise from inside his throat and Junsu feels the vibrations all the way down to his toes. It’s like this, one of them moves and the other feels it intensified. This is how Junsu knows that they were meant to be. Junsu arches when Changmin’s fingers circle slowly down his spine, and doesn’t give a damn even when he realises they are both going to be late for work.
Four years on, now, Junsu wears his shoes, and locks the door. When he leaves the house, the coffee is slowly getting cold.
Two men in the middle of the room. When I dance with him,
one of my great loves, he is absolutely human,
and when he turns to dip me -
Junsu stops at a shop window when he’s out for lunch, and peers in at one of the cakes displayed prominently. He wonders if Changmin will like it. His breath fogs the glass for a brief moment and when he sees the girl behind the counter notice his presence, he turns away quickly and continues walking down the crowded street.
Or I step on his foot because we are both leading,
I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer.
7 o’clock in the evening.
Junsu comes home, takes off his shoes, and changes out of his work clothes. He sets the dining table for two - matching sets of forks, knifes, spoons, plates, for a matching set of people.
At the edge of the dining table, the coffee is cold and untouched. Like always, he brings it to the kitchen and empties it into the sink, watching the black liquid swirl before disappearing into the pipes.
It’s a special day. He unpacks food from boxes, and sets it carefully between the two placemats on the table. It’s Changmin’s birthday. Junsu sits down at his side of the table and starts to eat, slowly and methodically, glancing up once in a while at the empty chair across from him.
He clears the table when he’s done, and plays Changmin’s favourite song from the stereo, the bittersweet notes straining from the speakers and bouncing off the walls of the apartment. Junsu smiles, holding out a hand, an invitation - shall we dance?
It goes like this ever since Changmin left. On his birthday, Junsu sets the table for two, brings home Changmin’s favourite food, plays Changmin’s favourite song and shares a dance with his dead lover.
This is the almond grove
in the dark slow dance.
It is what we should be doing right now. Scrapping
for joy. The haiku and honey. The orange and orangutang slow dance.