round 04, challenge six: drabble four
Title: you play charades
Fandom and Pairing: dbsk, jaechun
Rating: pg
Word Count: 200
Summary: chick flicks never happen in real life, especially not at lunch.
Warnings: None.
The skinny boy is making Jaejoong’s sandwich again. Cellophane over bony fingers folding lettuce and turkey slices, lining up pepper-jack and tomatoes like toy soldiers on a baguette. The crease in the bend of his elbow looks like a bruise, a faint pink akin to the mosquito bite scratched just below his wrist bone. Jaejoong contemplates the number of ways he could ask for a name and number, and a few hours on Saturday afternoon at the dollar theater with popcorn drowned in butter. ‘How about it?’ he would write on the back of the receipt. Maybe he’d say it in French; everything sounds more important in French.
The boy looks up and asks, “Anything else?” Jaejoong’s head suddenly clears. The summers that would’ve been spent sitting together in front of the air conditioning and eating mint chocolate chip ice cream, skin sticky from playing soccer and pushing each other up against the goal posts, is filed away out of reach. There will be no road-tripping west to the see the sun rise from the east. No leaving sticky notes on the fridge or buying things in pairs at the convenience store.
“Olives,” Jaejoong says, even though he hates olives.
Fandom and Pairing: dbsk, jaechun
Rating: pg
Word Count: 200
Summary: chick flicks never happen in real life, especially not at lunch.
Warnings: None.
The skinny boy is making Jaejoong’s sandwich again. Cellophane over bony fingers folding lettuce and turkey slices, lining up pepper-jack and tomatoes like toy soldiers on a baguette. The crease in the bend of his elbow looks like a bruise, a faint pink akin to the mosquito bite scratched just below his wrist bone. Jaejoong contemplates the number of ways he could ask for a name and number, and a few hours on Saturday afternoon at the dollar theater with popcorn drowned in butter. ‘How about it?’ he would write on the back of the receipt. Maybe he’d say it in French; everything sounds more important in French.
The boy looks up and asks, “Anything else?” Jaejoong’s head suddenly clears. The summers that would’ve been spent sitting together in front of the air conditioning and eating mint chocolate chip ice cream, skin sticky from playing soccer and pushing each other up against the goal posts, is filed away out of reach. There will be no road-tripping west to the see the sun rise from the east. No leaving sticky notes on the fridge or buying things in pairs at the convenience store.
“Olives,” Jaejoong says, even though he hates olives.