Leftover Ghosts (Open Challege; Flashfic Challenge 7: (Becoming) Real)
Title: Leftover Ghosts
Author: thevignette /inlightof
Word count: 1017
Concrit?: Sure
Pairing: Yoochun/Changmin
Changmin doesn’t feel so much like falling anymore. Not when Yoochun isn’t there to catch him.
This is a memory: whispers crawl through the rooms, hide under the furniture and blend in with the shadows. On the bed, Changmin unfurls like a flower, opening like the ripest fruit, inviting Yoochun to play him like an instrument. When they kiss, Yoochun bites down on Changmin’s lower lip, sucks, drawing him closer, closer, pulling him inwards, and towards, until they are soaked in each other.
Changmin thinks that nothing would matter, not even if the world abandons them.
The moon burns in the night sky, a swell of light against dark canvas.
Changmin moves along the walls of his house, watching fearfully as things assume Yoochun’s shape, contorting into his familiar silhouette. Nothing is safe - not the wastepaper basket in the corner, not the lamp, not yesterday’s clothes lying on the ground.
Yoochun’s absence chases him everywhere, holds him prisoner, screams in his ear and leaves behind ghosts of what used to be. Leaves him with bed sheets stained with love, coffee rings on paper, the aftertaste of their first kiss - Changmin stares hard at the telephone, waiting for it to ring, waiting for the strength to dial.
Changmin sits alone in the café, taps a slow rhythm against the side of the ceramic mug, and tries not to listen to the chatter of schoolgirls seated at the table next to his. They are talking about love.
Changmin feels his heart sicken at the sound of their laughter, piercing to the ears. He jerks his head sideways to look at them, and it is so hard to bear. They are so caught up in their happiness that they do not notice him looking.
A young boy stops at the other side of the glass panel. He taps against the glass, smiling, and one of the schoolgirls rises from her seat, a flush rising to her cheeks. She waves hastily to her friends and joins the boy on the other side of the glass. They hold hands; they weave their fingers together and something in Changmin heart clots.
One of the girls turns around and meets his gaze. Startled, she shrinks away from him, the glow leaving her face. Changmin looks away, knowing sorrow spreads as fast as fire. He leaves the café without finishing his coffee, taking his pain with him.
It’s been a year and a half, Changmin thinks, and hates himself. He knows where Yoochun is, he knows his number, and he knows all the places Yoochun goes to. Changmin crumples the longing in his heart, and discards it. It gets harder everyday - the longing expands, but his heart does not.
Yoochun’s wife serves them coffee. She’s tall, and moves like a dancer. She wears her hair pulled back from her face and fastened at the nape of her neck, a tumble of black curls down her back. Her hand rests on Yoochun’s back briefly. “Call me if you need anything,” she says and smiles at Changmin before leaving the room.
“How’ve you been?” Yoochun asks, and Changmin feels as though the world is splintering apart.
“Your wife’s very beautiful,” Changmin says, and Yoochun smiles, accepting the compliment. Changmin bows his head, stirring his coffee, and listens to Yoochun go on about his work and his life - his life after Changmin. Changmin tries desperately to come up with something to say about his life after Yoochun and he comes up with nothing but I miss you. He bites the words back and forces a smile onto his face.
“Why the sudden visit?” Yoochun asks.
Changmin’s hands tremble as he lifts the cup to his lips. “I’m catching up with a few old friends,” he lies. “You happen to be on the list.”
Yoochun laughs and Changmin feels like a wilting flower. Yoochun’s wife comes back into the room, Yoochun holds out a hand to her, and she takes it. Changmin spills coffee onto table, and tries to fix the mess with a jumble of apologies.
She comes over, a dishcloth in hand, laughter in her eyes. “It’s okay,” she says. She smells like perfume and Yoochun’s cologne.
“I’m sorry,” he says numbly to her.
“It’s okay,” she insists.
“I should be going anyway,” Changmin stutters. Yoochun nods, and guides Changmin into the living room, a hand on his shoulder, fire spreads through Changmin’s body, the progression of a drop of ink in water.
The kiss happens when they’re at the door, Yoochun saying goodbye, and his wife in the kitchen, humming a tune.
( “So this is it?” Yoochun says.
Changmin drops his forehead to Yoochun’s shoulder. “It can’t be any other way,” he says, trying to still his struggling heart.
“The last time?” Yoochun whispers. His hands are on Changmin’s waist, holding him. When they kiss, they both fight for dominance, the knowledge that this is the last time hanging between like a ghost, worming between them like a third lover. In the end, Changmin allows Yoochun to push him against the wall and he feels Yoochun’s desperate thrusts all the way to back of his skull, destroying him from the inside. He screams, and doesn’t say I love you. He leaves tears smeared on the wall, and doesn’t allow himself to think if he’ll regret this.
Three months later, he receives the wedding invitation. He doesn’t go, and he spends the day trying to drown himself in the shower. )
Yoochun’s hands are still holding onto Changmin’s shirt, breathing heavily. “No,” he says.
The kiss leaves Changmin’s lips stinging. “I shouldn’t have come, should I?” he asks hollowly. In front of him, Yoochun is real, Yoochun is here, and it’s everything he’s wanted for the past year and a half. There’s pain in Yoochun’s eyes, and Changmin hates that he’s the reason it’s there.
“I have to go,” Changmin chokes out, turning on his heel and starting down the steps.
Yoochun grabs his hand, forces him to turn back. Yoochun’s gaze holds his, rooting him to the ground. Yoochun’s wedding ring is cold against Changmin’s skin.
Author: thevignette /inlightof
Word count: 1017
Concrit?: Sure
Pairing: Yoochun/Changmin
Changmin doesn’t feel so much like falling anymore. Not when Yoochun isn’t there to catch him.
This is a memory: whispers crawl through the rooms, hide under the furniture and blend in with the shadows. On the bed, Changmin unfurls like a flower, opening like the ripest fruit, inviting Yoochun to play him like an instrument. When they kiss, Yoochun bites down on Changmin’s lower lip, sucks, drawing him closer, closer, pulling him inwards, and towards, until they are soaked in each other.
Changmin thinks that nothing would matter, not even if the world abandons them.
The moon burns in the night sky, a swell of light against dark canvas.
Changmin moves along the walls of his house, watching fearfully as things assume Yoochun’s shape, contorting into his familiar silhouette. Nothing is safe - not the wastepaper basket in the corner, not the lamp, not yesterday’s clothes lying on the ground.
Yoochun’s absence chases him everywhere, holds him prisoner, screams in his ear and leaves behind ghosts of what used to be. Leaves him with bed sheets stained with love, coffee rings on paper, the aftertaste of their first kiss - Changmin stares hard at the telephone, waiting for it to ring, waiting for the strength to dial.
Changmin sits alone in the café, taps a slow rhythm against the side of the ceramic mug, and tries not to listen to the chatter of schoolgirls seated at the table next to his. They are talking about love.
Changmin feels his heart sicken at the sound of their laughter, piercing to the ears. He jerks his head sideways to look at them, and it is so hard to bear. They are so caught up in their happiness that they do not notice him looking.
A young boy stops at the other side of the glass panel. He taps against the glass, smiling, and one of the schoolgirls rises from her seat, a flush rising to her cheeks. She waves hastily to her friends and joins the boy on the other side of the glass. They hold hands; they weave their fingers together and something in Changmin heart clots.
One of the girls turns around and meets his gaze. Startled, she shrinks away from him, the glow leaving her face. Changmin looks away, knowing sorrow spreads as fast as fire. He leaves the café without finishing his coffee, taking his pain with him.
It’s been a year and a half, Changmin thinks, and hates himself. He knows where Yoochun is, he knows his number, and he knows all the places Yoochun goes to. Changmin crumples the longing in his heart, and discards it. It gets harder everyday - the longing expands, but his heart does not.
Yoochun’s wife serves them coffee. She’s tall, and moves like a dancer. She wears her hair pulled back from her face and fastened at the nape of her neck, a tumble of black curls down her back. Her hand rests on Yoochun’s back briefly. “Call me if you need anything,” she says and smiles at Changmin before leaving the room.
“How’ve you been?” Yoochun asks, and Changmin feels as though the world is splintering apart.
“Your wife’s very beautiful,” Changmin says, and Yoochun smiles, accepting the compliment. Changmin bows his head, stirring his coffee, and listens to Yoochun go on about his work and his life - his life after Changmin. Changmin tries desperately to come up with something to say about his life after Yoochun and he comes up with nothing but I miss you. He bites the words back and forces a smile onto his face.
“Why the sudden visit?” Yoochun asks.
Changmin’s hands tremble as he lifts the cup to his lips. “I’m catching up with a few old friends,” he lies. “You happen to be on the list.”
Yoochun laughs and Changmin feels like a wilting flower. Yoochun’s wife comes back into the room, Yoochun holds out a hand to her, and she takes it. Changmin spills coffee onto table, and tries to fix the mess with a jumble of apologies.
She comes over, a dishcloth in hand, laughter in her eyes. “It’s okay,” she says. She smells like perfume and Yoochun’s cologne.
“I’m sorry,” he says numbly to her.
“It’s okay,” she insists.
“I should be going anyway,” Changmin stutters. Yoochun nods, and guides Changmin into the living room, a hand on his shoulder, fire spreads through Changmin’s body, the progression of a drop of ink in water.
The kiss happens when they’re at the door, Yoochun saying goodbye, and his wife in the kitchen, humming a tune.
( “So this is it?” Yoochun says.
Changmin drops his forehead to Yoochun’s shoulder. “It can’t be any other way,” he says, trying to still his struggling heart.
“The last time?” Yoochun whispers. His hands are on Changmin’s waist, holding him. When they kiss, they both fight for dominance, the knowledge that this is the last time hanging between like a ghost, worming between them like a third lover. In the end, Changmin allows Yoochun to push him against the wall and he feels Yoochun’s desperate thrusts all the way to back of his skull, destroying him from the inside. He screams, and doesn’t say I love you. He leaves tears smeared on the wall, and doesn’t allow himself to think if he’ll regret this.
Three months later, he receives the wedding invitation. He doesn’t go, and he spends the day trying to drown himself in the shower. )
Yoochun’s hands are still holding onto Changmin’s shirt, breathing heavily. “No,” he says.
The kiss leaves Changmin’s lips stinging. “I shouldn’t have come, should I?” he asks hollowly. In front of him, Yoochun is real, Yoochun is here, and it’s everything he’s wanted for the past year and a half. There’s pain in Yoochun’s eyes, and Changmin hates that he’s the reason it’s there.
“I have to go,” Changmin chokes out, turning on his heel and starting down the steps.
Yoochun grabs his hand, forces him to turn back. Yoochun’s gaze holds his, rooting him to the ground. Yoochun’s wedding ring is cold against Changmin’s skin.