오
untitled wooyoung/taeyeon/kangin
rating: pg-13
word count: ~500 words
...this is something i was working on in march 2011 and then never finished. oh, is it 2013 now? i had no idea.
this was supposed to end up as an incredibly convoluted ot3 with many scenes of high-caliber ust between wooyoung and kangin resulting from their collective pining after taeyeon, but...well, here.
"Hyung, can you please remember to wash the dishes today?" Wooyoung called out as he squatted in the entryway to fish out his loafers from the rising tide of shoes. Why did he always end up with people who never bothered to put their crap back where it belonged? Note to himself: observe tenants' cleaning habits before agreeing to live with them. "You promised."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it, don't worry," Wooyoung heard Youngwoon mumble as his chopsticks clinked against the kimchi bowl. "I think this needed to ferment a bit more," he declared after a few moments of crunching.
Wooyoung rolled his eyes as he stood up to do a last double-check in the hall mirror. Youngwoon clearly didn't possess any sort of ability to keep his thoughts to himself.
"I'm sorry it didn't fit to your specific tastes, oh great connoisseur," he said caustically and looped his fingers through the worn briefcase handle. He reminded himself to stop by E-Mart after work for sesame oil. Taeyeon said she wanted to try making seaweed soup tonight.
Youngwoon adopted his incredulous older-authority-figure tone. "You know you shouldn't speak to your hyung like that," he warned. "Obey me!"
The resounding door slam indicated the depth of Wooyoung's obedience.
--------------------------
Wooyoung wanted to come back to a serene apartment. This headache was about to destroy his skull.
Instead Wooyoung came back to Taeyeon's head pillowed on Youngwoon's left shoulder on the living room couch. He could only stare at the blanket encasing both of them. Why couldn't spontaneous combustion of wool be a regular occurrence?
Wooyoung forced his eyes over to the kitchen. His patience was close to spontaneously combusting. "Hyung. Didn't you say you'd--"
"Shhh," Youngwoon interrupted, sounding as if he were almost spitting. He waved to Taeyeon's closed eyelids, and made a hand gesture that was supposed to represent lowering the volume but looked more like petting a mildly retarded dog. A curtain of hair slid across Taeyeon's face. Youngwoon eased it back behind her shoulder, fingertips lingering through the strands. How did rough hands learn to be so gentle? It was like watching a lumberjack embroider.
Wooyoung closed his eyes briefly and then headed for the faucet. Concentrate. The newest dishes were teetering dangerously on top of last night's dinner pile. Balance them. Stack the plates according to size on the counter. Sift through the rest for the glass cups. They tended to crack under all of the pressure. Group them to the side. You couldn't properly wash dishes in a full sink; the water hardly had space to run. Wooyoung clattered the silverware left at the bottom as noisily as he could. He didn't know why the rustle of the blanket Youngwoon was adjusting over Taeyeon was so fucking loud. He was getting a headache again.
rating: pg-13
word count: ~500 words
...this is something i was working on in march 2011 and then never finished. oh, is it 2013 now? i had no idea.
this was supposed to end up as an incredibly convoluted ot3 with many scenes of high-caliber ust between wooyoung and kangin resulting from their collective pining after taeyeon, but...well, here.
"Hyung, can you please remember to wash the dishes today?" Wooyoung called out as he squatted in the entryway to fish out his loafers from the rising tide of shoes. Why did he always end up with people who never bothered to put their crap back where it belonged? Note to himself: observe tenants' cleaning habits before agreeing to live with them. "You promised."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it, don't worry," Wooyoung heard Youngwoon mumble as his chopsticks clinked against the kimchi bowl. "I think this needed to ferment a bit more," he declared after a few moments of crunching.
Wooyoung rolled his eyes as he stood up to do a last double-check in the hall mirror. Youngwoon clearly didn't possess any sort of ability to keep his thoughts to himself.
"I'm sorry it didn't fit to your specific tastes, oh great connoisseur," he said caustically and looped his fingers through the worn briefcase handle. He reminded himself to stop by E-Mart after work for sesame oil. Taeyeon said she wanted to try making seaweed soup tonight.
Youngwoon adopted his incredulous older-authority-figure tone. "You know you shouldn't speak to your hyung like that," he warned. "Obey me!"
The resounding door slam indicated the depth of Wooyoung's obedience.
--------------------------
Wooyoung wanted to come back to a serene apartment. This headache was about to destroy his skull.
Instead Wooyoung came back to Taeyeon's head pillowed on Youngwoon's left shoulder on the living room couch. He could only stare at the blanket encasing both of them. Why couldn't spontaneous combustion of wool be a regular occurrence?
Wooyoung forced his eyes over to the kitchen. His patience was close to spontaneously combusting. "Hyung. Didn't you say you'd--"
"Shhh," Youngwoon interrupted, sounding as if he were almost spitting. He waved to Taeyeon's closed eyelids, and made a hand gesture that was supposed to represent lowering the volume but looked more like petting a mildly retarded dog. A curtain of hair slid across Taeyeon's face. Youngwoon eased it back behind her shoulder, fingertips lingering through the strands. How did rough hands learn to be so gentle? It was like watching a lumberjack embroider.
Wooyoung closed his eyes briefly and then headed for the faucet. Concentrate. The newest dishes were teetering dangerously on top of last night's dinner pile. Balance them. Stack the plates according to size on the counter. Sift through the rest for the glass cups. They tended to crack under all of the pressure. Group them to the side. You couldn't properly wash dishes in a full sink; the water hardly had space to run. Wooyoung clattered the silverware left at the bottom as noisily as he could. He didn't know why the rustle of the blanket Youngwoon was adjusting over Taeyeon was so fucking loud. He was getting a headache again.