Ship/Member: wonwoo & seungkwan Major Tags: none Additional Tags: none Permission to remix: yes :-)
*** it’s been weeks since i wrote anything … thank u for sharing this beautiful poem. it was a centering reminder, and inspired me to put even something down. plz imagine here a 30-something jeon wonwoo, far from home, finding his way (this way, that way, wrong way, free way…) lets wish him the best! 1500w
🍊
wonwoo opens his eyes. not very much to his liking, because it’s sunday, though wonwoo now has to lie here, as in under his comforter and his duvet and the quilted square of strawberries and a single rivulet of morning sun, and wonder, as he listens to the pitpitpatpat of his neighbor’s border collie making her way down for her morning walk, how much more he can afford to himself the opportunity to expect anything less or more of a deviation from what he surely must have by now accepted as his normal. ugh, he rolls over and grinds his face into the pillow. what a nice sleep.
normal, normal. wonwoo scratches the phantom itches along his shin. that’s quite all right, isn’t it, normal. his notification center: an email from the leasing office. an response to a meeting invite that was on friday. three notifications from coupang. a calendar alert for a dinner reservation. ahhh. wonwoo sweeps the whole of his leg up in a quarter arch that sends a book and a packet of tissues to the floor. wonwoo, now half-risen on an elbow, blinks. oh, so that’s where it went.
a morning wank. euuuurh, tempting. wonwoo stretches his arms and legs up and down, respectively, then down and up, flexes, unclenches. the groan he lets out from deep his chest is eruptive. no, not now. maybe later. today, it feels like something he has to work towards. he glimpses at his phone once more. still no response from soonyoung. well, that’s okay too.
the trees have started to turn. in just a blink of an eye, is what he had once muttered to minghao by the copier machine on the design floor. he has no excuse ever to be on that floor, and minghao will always get up without complaint from his blueprints to shepherd wonwoo in, and linger by wonwoo’s side, until he’s finished carding through his collated thoughts, and, with a fresh cup of coffee held between fingers, sets off to reenter his routine. minghao had said one day, there is no reason, and while this might have been in reference to the existence of fingerless gloves, it has since become a thread to their relation-ship.
well, time surely flies. he has half a thought then. maybe he should text minghao. wonwoo zips open his banana bag, and holds his phone, and because his gloves have no grip (don’t say a word) it slips back into the pouch, between the pages of the book he surely won’t have time to read today, the blank screen staring back up at him. no, surely, he’s still asleep. it’s okay if he keeps it to himself, standing on the anticipatory curb at the crosswalk, that he imagines minghao sleeping tenderly and softly in this quiet morning, for just a few more moments.
but could you do this (hold a freshly roasted sweet potato (with fingerless gloves) (wonwoo-ya, let it go)). he hits send. to his surprise, a moment later, minghao sends back a sticker. wonwoo wonders if he can wonder if minghao would smile and blow on it cutely before taking a nibble. he bites into the golden shard, and breathes voracious fire through his mouth until the flame is extinguished to dampened smoke. alongside this grove, you can hear the ocean. wonwoo tips his head back and stares into the clear, clear blue sky.
아따야 대단하다, you think, as wonwoo chokes down the last of his sweet potato (peel on) without even a gulp of milk. don’t think anything of it, he cautions, and then he checks his phone. still yet, not a word from soonyoung. sleepyhead. wonwoo breathes in through his nose, because there’s traffic down his windpipe, and cuts through the park.
it’s uphill, then it’s downhill, and it’s a winding path. wonwoo pockets a pretty rock he found atop the low end of a stone wall. kids grip through monkeybars with only the sensation of thrill in their palms and their feet pick up rainbows. autumn is a beautiful time, wherever you go. in particular, it is very pretty here, framing the entrance of this alleyway. wonwoo slips his hands into his pocket, and rolls the stone around in his palm, and he exhales, as he enters.
“모든 날~ 모든 순간~ 함께헤엣취! 우우~선두룩ᄒᆞ다~”
and wonwoo announces: “you’ll catch a c—”
“ack, geez! whoa! oh—” wonwoo splutters and a red-orange leaf flutters to his feet “geez! don’t stand so close while i’ve got a whole broom in my hand! have you no sense of danger!”
wonwoo laughs, and accidentally swallows some grit, as seungkwan whacks off the rest of the twigs and leaves from his shoulder with the broomstick. fussy, admonishing. wonwoo watches seungkwan zoom in and out of focus as he finishes up his tidying. “working on sunday, too. 고생해쓰다이.”
seungkwan peels back, holding the broomstick to his chest as he flicks his eyes up and down wonwoo’s length. it’s not enough to make him quell in his choice, but really, was chartreuse not the move? “veeery weird to,” seungkwan starts and wonwoo’s brows shoot up, “hear a 경상도남자 try his hand, uh? doesn’t it like,” he waves his hand around his mouth, teeth lightly bared, “feel? uh? wrong?”
wonwoo laughs out loud and it expels from hiding one last leaf atop his head. seungkwan lets out a small 엄마야 under his breath, which resolves into a bit of a flustered laugh. wonwoo’s face held in big smile—indeed, something a bit taking.
“어, yeah,” wonwoo laughs between breaths, “어, it is pretty strange.”
“well then, stop.” seungkwan steps into the store, tossing a scowl over his shoulder, “ya look a lil stupid, y’know?” again, wonwoo laughs. “whaddya want t’day?”
there’s an agitated shout: ya, boo seungkwan! who are you talking to like that? and seungkwan shouts back, it’s just wonwoo hyung! to which seungkwan’s mother pops her head through the kitchen window beaming, telling wonwoo to come in, stay, stay, it’s so cold out, 야 아들, get him some tea, and seungkwan pinches his nose, muttering something under his breath.
wonwoo takes in the whole scene with a laugh hanging from his lips. “전.” seungkwan peeks at him as he rearranges some of the buns in the warm case. seungkwan cautions that they only have 동태 ready and, lost in his big-nosed reflection in the metal tin of sesame oil on the counter, wonwoo says, “that’s okay. my friend likes it.”
“형은.” when wonwoo looks over, he’s taken aback, maybe. the late morning sun has started to warm the back of his neck, through his thin jacquard scarf. there’s steam rising through the kitchen window, and from the vat of self-serve tea, and seungkwan’s eyes are taking on the color of the persimmon he had plucked from the tree and placed in wonwoo’s hand. it was sweet. “what does hyung like?”
wonwoo draws it out:
and seungkwan hums out loud as he nods to himself. his fingers drum along the counter, and his shoulders had taken on the slopes of the buckwheat noodles that wonwoo finds himself staring down into, as he sits on a park bench, here at bookkeu’s favorite dog park. soonyoung hasn’t responded, and wonwoo is okay with waiting.
i’m not at all entirely sure why in the world you would treat your best friend who’s offering his precious time to a 도시락 lunch as his first welcome meal, seungkwan had uttered, as he tried to squeeze in yet another row of 충무김밥 into the plastic bag, but i’m guessing this is par for the course for you all.
wonwoo looks back up at the cloudless sky. he laughs. he glimpses to his left and finds seungkwan skipping back in small hops stone to stone with two warm cans held to his cheeks, probably singing something to himself, from the way wonwoo can see his lips shaping sound and joy.
“아니, 내가 만든건데 어째 그래 맛있지?” seungkwan slides onto the bench. he’s smiling through an utter lie. wonwoo’s seen seungkwan try to cut orange wedges and octopus sausages—but, hm, he shouldn’t be talking. seungkwan’s holding a can for wonwoo to take. wonwoo considers, and chooses the coffee milk, and chooses to stuff it into the hood of seungkwan’s parka. seungkwan giggles, and the kids exclaim, and the dogs bark, and the leaves rustle, and the wind sings, and the sun rises.
and soon enough, seungkwan leaves.
coming, and going. wonwoo sips his tea. he’s particularly good at that, seungkwan. what wonwoo is good at, is waiting. waiting, and watching.
well. wonwoo gets up with a groan and dusts off his coat. figures he shouldn’t be dumb about it, at least. it’s mildly annoying to hear it from seungkwan’s lips, which are as red as his ears, as if seungkwan had been the one sitting in sudden wind chill for a good half hour, before coming to his dull senses. i’d woken up too early, wonwoo tries, and i haven’t had any coffee yet. seungkwan looks at wonwoo like he’s lost his glasses, and then offers a sip of his iced americano. seungkwan’s eyes go round as he defensively huffs, what, and while it’s an incredibly funny feeling to wash down a bite of 따끈따끈한 단팥빵 with it, it isn’t all so bad. before seungkwan’s mother can hound seungkwan, wonwoo shouts, 어머니, i ate well, and smiles into his palm. seungkwan calls him weird, and with the reticence and wisdom of age, wonwoo only half-acknowledges it. outside the window, autumn dances, and wonwoo can see the traces of a familiar smile in their arc, and wonwoo marvels it, the beauty of this time.
[fill] t zero
Major Tags: none
Additional Tags: none
Permission to remix: yes :-)
***
it’s been weeks since i wrote anything … thank u for sharing this beautiful poem. it was a centering reminder, and inspired me to put even something down. plz imagine here a 30-something jeon wonwoo, far from home, finding his way (this way, that way, wrong way, free way…) lets wish him the best! 1500w
🍊
wonwoo opens his eyes. not very much to his liking, because it’s sunday, though wonwoo now has to lie here, as in under his comforter and his duvet and the quilted square of strawberries and a single rivulet of morning sun, and wonder, as he listens to the pitpitpatpat of his neighbor’s border collie making her way down for her morning walk, how much more he can afford to himself the opportunity to expect anything less or more of a deviation from what he surely must have by now accepted as his normal. ugh, he rolls over and grinds his face into the pillow. what a nice sleep.
normal, normal. wonwoo scratches the phantom itches along his shin. that’s quite all right, isn’t it, normal. his notification center: an email from the leasing office. an response to a meeting invite that was on friday. three notifications from coupang. a calendar alert for a dinner reservation. ahhh. wonwoo sweeps the whole of his leg up in a quarter arch that sends a book and a packet of tissues to the floor. wonwoo, now half-risen on an elbow, blinks. oh, so that’s where it went.
a morning wank. euuuurh, tempting. wonwoo stretches his arms and legs up and down, respectively, then down and up, flexes, unclenches. the groan he lets out from deep his chest is eruptive. no, not now. maybe later. today, it feels like something he has to work towards. he glimpses at his phone once more. still no response from soonyoung. well, that’s okay too.
the trees have started to turn. in just a blink of an eye, is what he had once muttered to minghao by the copier machine on the design floor. he has no excuse ever to be on that floor, and minghao will always get up without complaint from his blueprints to shepherd wonwoo in, and linger by wonwoo’s side, until he’s finished carding through his collated thoughts, and, with a fresh cup of coffee held between fingers, sets off to reenter his routine. minghao had said one day, there is no reason, and while this might have been in reference to the existence of fingerless gloves, it has since become a thread to their relation-ship.
well, time surely flies. he has half a thought then. maybe he should text minghao. wonwoo zips open his banana bag, and holds his phone, and because his gloves have no grip (don’t say a word) it slips back into the pouch, between the pages of the book he surely won’t have time to read today, the blank screen staring back up at him. no, surely, he’s still asleep. it’s okay if he keeps it to himself, standing on the anticipatory curb at the crosswalk, that he imagines minghao sleeping tenderly and softly in this quiet morning, for just a few more moments.
but could you do this (hold a freshly roasted sweet potato (with fingerless gloves) (wonwoo-ya, let it go)). he hits send. to his surprise, a moment later, minghao sends back a sticker. wonwoo wonders if he can wonder if minghao would smile and blow on it cutely before taking a nibble. he bites into the golden shard, and breathes voracious fire through his mouth until the flame is extinguished to dampened smoke. alongside this grove, you can hear the ocean. wonwoo tips his head back and stares into the clear, clear blue sky.
아따야 대단하다, you think, as wonwoo chokes down the last of his sweet potato (peel on) without even a gulp of milk. don’t think anything of it, he cautions, and then he checks his phone. still yet, not a word from soonyoung. sleepyhead. wonwoo breathes in through his nose, because there’s traffic down his windpipe, and cuts through the park.
it’s uphill, then it’s downhill, and it’s a winding path. wonwoo pockets a pretty rock he found atop the low end of a stone wall. kids grip through monkeybars with only the sensation of thrill in their palms and their feet pick up rainbows. autumn is a beautiful time, wherever you go. in particular, it is very pretty here, framing the entrance of this alleyway. wonwoo slips his hands into his pocket, and rolls the stone around in his palm, and he exhales, as he enters.
“모든 날~ 모든 순간~ 함께헤엣취! 우우~선두룩ᄒᆞ다~”
and wonwoo announces: “you’ll catch a c—”
“ack, geez! whoa! oh—” wonwoo splutters and a red-orange leaf flutters to his feet “geez! don’t stand so close while i’ve got a whole broom in my hand! have you no sense of danger!”
wonwoo laughs, and accidentally swallows some grit, as seungkwan whacks off the rest of the twigs and leaves from his shoulder with the broomstick. fussy, admonishing. wonwoo watches seungkwan zoom in and out of focus as he finishes up his tidying. “working on sunday, too. 고생해쓰다이.”
seungkwan peels back, holding the broomstick to his chest as he flicks his eyes up and down wonwoo’s length. it’s not enough to make him quell in his choice, but really, was chartreuse not the move? “veeery weird to,” seungkwan starts and wonwoo’s brows shoot up, “hear a 경상도남자 try his hand, uh? doesn’t it like,” he waves his hand around his mouth, teeth lightly bared, “feel? uh? wrong?”
wonwoo laughs out loud and it expels from hiding one last leaf atop his head. seungkwan lets out a small 엄마야 under his breath, which resolves into a bit of a flustered laugh. wonwoo’s face held in big smile—indeed, something a bit taking.
“어, yeah,” wonwoo laughs between breaths, “어, it is pretty strange.”
“well then, stop.” seungkwan steps into the store, tossing a scowl over his shoulder, “ya look a lil stupid, y’know?” again, wonwoo laughs. “whaddya want t’day?”
there’s an agitated shout: ya, boo seungkwan! who are you talking to like that? and seungkwan shouts back, it’s just wonwoo hyung! to which seungkwan’s mother pops her head through the kitchen window beaming, telling wonwoo to come in, stay, stay, it’s so cold out, 야 아들, get him some tea, and seungkwan pinches his nose, muttering something under his breath.
wonwoo takes in the whole scene with a laugh hanging from his lips. “전.” seungkwan peeks at him as he rearranges some of the buns in the warm case. seungkwan cautions that they only have 동태 ready and, lost in his big-nosed reflection in the metal tin of sesame oil on the counter, wonwoo says, “that’s okay. my friend likes it.”
“형은.” when wonwoo looks over, he’s taken aback, maybe. the late morning sun has started to warm the back of his neck, through his thin jacquard scarf. there’s steam rising through the kitchen window, and from the vat of self-serve tea, and seungkwan’s eyes are taking on the color of the persimmon he had plucked from the tree and placed in wonwoo’s hand. it was sweet. “what does hyung like?”
wonwoo draws it out:
and seungkwan hums out loud as he nods to himself. his fingers drum along the counter, and his shoulders had taken on the slopes of the buckwheat noodles that wonwoo finds himself staring down into, as he sits on a park bench, here at bookkeu’s favorite dog park. soonyoung hasn’t responded, and wonwoo is okay with waiting.
i’m not at all entirely sure why in the world you would treat your best friend who’s offering his precious time to a 도시락 lunch as his first welcome meal, seungkwan had uttered, as he tried to squeeze in yet another row of 충무김밥 into the plastic bag, but i’m guessing this is par for the course for you all.
wonwoo looks back up at the cloudless sky. he laughs. he glimpses to his left and finds seungkwan skipping back in small hops stone to stone with two warm cans held to his cheeks, probably singing something to himself, from the way wonwoo can see his lips shaping sound and joy.
“아니, 내가 만든건데 어째 그래 맛있지?” seungkwan slides onto the bench. he’s smiling through an utter lie. wonwoo’s seen seungkwan try to cut orange wedges and octopus sausages—but, hm, he shouldn’t be talking. seungkwan’s holding a can for wonwoo to take. wonwoo considers, and chooses the coffee milk, and chooses to stuff it into the hood of seungkwan’s parka. seungkwan giggles, and the kids exclaim, and the dogs bark, and the leaves rustle, and the wind sings, and the sun rises.
and soon enough, seungkwan leaves.
coming, and going. wonwoo sips his tea. he’s particularly good at that, seungkwan. what wonwoo is good at, is waiting. waiting, and watching.
well. wonwoo gets up with a groan and dusts off his coat. figures he shouldn’t be dumb about it, at least. it’s mildly annoying to hear it from seungkwan’s lips, which are as red as his ears, as if seungkwan had been the one sitting in sudden wind chill for a good half hour, before coming to his dull senses. i’d woken up too early, wonwoo tries, and i haven’t had any coffee yet. seungkwan looks at wonwoo like he’s lost his glasses, and then offers a sip of his iced americano. seungkwan’s eyes go round as he defensively huffs, what, and while it’s an incredibly funny feeling to wash down a bite of 따끈따끈한 단팥빵 with it, it isn’t all so bad. before seungkwan’s mother can hound seungkwan, wonwoo shouts, 어머니, i ate well, and smiles into his palm. seungkwan calls him weird, and with the reticence and wisdom of age, wonwoo only half-acknowledges it. outside the window, autumn dances, and wonwoo can see the traces of a familiar smile in their arc, and wonwoo marvels it, the beauty of this time.