Status: Closed
This round has closed. It remains open for fills, comments and remixes, but prompts are no longer accepted.
About
"Someone will remember us, I say, even in another time."
"How inconvenient to be made of desire."
"It's me, hi, I'm the problem its me."
Calling all readers, lovers of poetry and music, screen and stage. Quote collecters and lyric hoarders, unleash your archive. For this round, every prompt must contain a quote - you can combine them, add commentary, link to articles, do whatever. Steal from a literary classic, or copy WeVerse drama.
đ HOLD UP
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Language in Silence
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: I think this would be fun as canon/idolverse but AU is also welcome!
Do Not Wants: None
Prompt:
[FILL] Apple of My Pie
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Pushing Daisies AU (kind of), more of a bakery au with supernatural elements, love at first sight, falling in love under really kind of terrible circumstances actually, bakery au, animal death (a bird has an unfortunate incident with a window), technically main character death but uhhhh notâŚreally? it is extremely brief and doesnât quite stick and it isnât actively depicted I promise itâs fine
Permission to remix: Yes
Word count: 1,472
itâs been a very long time since Iâve written anything and there very much is no plot to this only vibes. zero knowledge of pushing daisies is necessary for this I literally just stole part of the concept and made something else entirely (sorry not sorry for the title)
also on ao3 if this is a bit long for your comment reading needs on here, sorry for the long scroll
***
"Could you pass me the ââ
A gloved hand appears right in front of Seungcheolâs face, so close that his eyes canât help but cross. In the palm rests a neatly coiled rose formed from delicate slices of apple peel. White flesh, nearly translucent and only just beginning to yellow, rimmed in pink, contrasting beautifully with the black leather of the glove. The fingers wiggle with impatience, sending a waft of perfume to envelop Seungcheol, the floury warmth of the bakery blending enticingly with white florals, and somethingâŚdeeper.
Wonwoo clears his throat, startling Seungcheol into redirecting his gaze to Wonwooâs face. The blush just barely dusting his cheeks like rose-tinted powdered sugar is only a shade or two darker than the skin of the apple.
Seungcheol makes a meal of plucking the rose from Wonwooâs palm, making sure every single fingertip touches the surface of the glove, caressing slowly, dipping gently beneath the petals. He is as careful as he is tender, hands as steady as a surgeon.
Wonwoo shivers, and Seungcheolâs knees shake.
Sometime when Seungcheol wasnât paying attention, or, well, when he was paying attention to the apple, and the glove, and the smell blooming from the skin of Wonwooâs wrist, the two of them have gotten closer. So close Seungcheol can hear it when Wonwooâs lips part, and feel it when Wonwoo's shaky breath fans across Seungcheolâs cheeks.
He's vibrant, glowing, beautiful. A wanting thing, nerves and need skittering through the air between them.
He's alive.
That's the thought that stops Seungcheol, in the end.
~~~~~
Seungcheol found out he could resurrect the dead when he was eight years old. A foolishly enthusiastic bluebird had slammed itself into his bedroom window, landing clearly lifeless on the ground beneath it. With all the fear and wonder and sorrow of a boy, Seungcheol had run outside and, after some nudges with his tennis shoes and a lot of deliberation over whether or not he'd get in trouble for it, he had poked the poor bird with his finger.
The bird snapped to life in a flutter and flurry, wings everywhere and feathers clouding around its tiny body. Seungcheol snatched his hand back and watched, awed, as the bird righted itself, coming to standing and breathing hard like it was as startled by this series of events as Seungcheol was.
The two considered each other, hearts racing, heads tilted in matching confusion and delight.
Slowly, gently, Seungcheol reached his still-chubby fingers out toward the bird. The bird, after a moment of careful consideration, chirped and held still.
~~~~~
Seungcheol's grandmother told him a story once, years after the bird, or maybe years before the bird, it was hard to say with a child's memory that mostly clung to the sensory experience of his grandmother's kitchen, flour and sugar and the alchemy of pie. The story changed, whether she changed it with each telling, or Seungcheol's mind changed it with each remembering. But the moral of the story remained the same, as well-worn as her voice, or the lines creasing the paper-thin skin of her hands.
With every gift, there came a cost.
~~~~~
Seungcheol petted the beautiful crown of the grateful bluebird, and that was how he found out a second touch to the newly-living made them dead again.
He found out, with the bird and, later, others, that the dead stayed that way afterwards, no matter how much touching or praying or crying he did.
~~~~~
Wonwoo walked into Seungcheol's bakery at almost the same moment that he walked into Seungcheol's heart. Almost, only because Seungcheol was in the back when the bell over the door tinkled it's merry hello, and so it took the wiping of flour-dusted hands and the shuffle of steps and the lifting of Seungcheol's head before he saw Wonwoo, and then that was it. Love. As plain as day, and more beautiful too.
It was a minor miracle that Seungcheol got Wonwoo's order right (a slice of apple pie, whipped cream on top, and a coffee, black, three sugars) given his ears were ringing and the light in the bakery was suddenly blinding, a halo surrounding Wonwoo. Well-trained hands plated the pie, swirled a spiral of cream atop it, poured the coffee into Seungcheol's best mug, and spooned three generous helpings of sugar. When he slid his offerings across the counter, Wonwoo's fingers brushed his own, and it was like moonlight, or starshine, or some other such celestial offering, big and bright and unfathomable.
They smiled at each other, Wonwoo soft and a bit shy, Seungcheol beaming like the lovestruck fool he was.
When Wonwoo left, Seungcheol didn't wonder if he would be back, or when, or how he would ask this beautiful man out on a date. He knew as certain as the sun would rise that he would see Wonwoo again, and soon, and that whenever the time was right to take Wonwoo on a picnic under Seungcheol's favorite tree on his favorite hill with his favorite view of the valley, he would know, and that Wonwoo would smile, soft and a bit shy, and say yes.
Seungcheol had whistled, and perhaps skipped, and gone back to his pies.
~~~~~
He doesnât remember seeing Wonwoo die. He knows he mustâve, he was right there when it happened. Waving goodbye from the door of the shop as Wonwoo looked back and smiled one last time as he stepped off the curb, and then â
Nothing.
And then, a choice that wasnât really a choice at all.
~~~~~
In the end Wonwoo was surprisingly accepting of the situation. Seungcheol hadnât resurrected so many people that he had a script for it, and it wasnât like it was common for someone to have literally magical fingers, but he fumbled his way through things, and Wonwoo listened.
And perhaps even more miraculous than Wonwooâs first breath of a second chance at life, Wonwoo stayed.
~~~~~
It shouldâve been terrible, loving someone and never getting to have them. Wanting and never being allowed something as simple and necessary as touch. And it was terrible, sometimes. Lord knows Seungcheol is no saint, and neither is Wonwoo. They had their fights and their frustrations, and their ways of managing it all, both healthy and not.
But in the end, it was simple. Seungcheolâs world was better with Wonwoo in it. Wonwoo was a gift. And with every gift, there is a cost.
And every time he got to see Wonwoo smile, Seungcheol decided it was a cost he was more than willing to pay.
~~~~~
Seungcheol hauls himself away from Wonwoo, taking the apple-peel rose from his still waiting hand. He clears his throat and takes several deep breaths, and politely pretends not to notice Wonwoo shaking himself from a safe distance.
They finish the pie, and then a few more, until the ovens are full and all there is left to do is wait and see how it all turns out.
The kitchen is quiet and sun-drenched with joyful morning, and Wonwoo is humming along to the radio and petting the cat that frequents the bakery, and the moment, Seungcheol decides, is right.
âDo you want to go on a picnic with me?â Seungcheol asks, heart pounding even though he is certain of the answer.
Wonwoo smiles, soft and a bit shy, and says, âYes.â
~~~~~
The picnic is as perfect as Seungcheol imagined.
Well, there are more bugs than he had pictured in his daydreams, and the whipped cream did not survive the warm spring sunshine, and Wonwooâs glasses fogged up a bit on the moderate hike up the hill. Seungcheol forgot napkins, and the tree is budding but not quite in bloom, and a squirrel, high in the branches, is entirely too interested in their spread.
But Wonwoo is beautiful, and he has laughed several times on this perfect date, and Seungcheol doesnât think he could possibly be happier.
âI love you,â Seungcheol says between one breath and the next.
A brief flash of panic darts through Wonwooâs eyes, and Seungcheol feels compelled to explain himself.
âI know the situation isnât ideal, and thereâs so many people who would be better for you, and itâs probably selfish of me to even say this considering I could kill you at any moment purely by accident, but you make me happy, Wonwoo. I want to make you happy every day, if I can. So if that sounds like something you could let me do, then ââ
Thereâs cellophane over Seungcheolâs face, and he only has a second to make a bemused little sound about it before the sensation of warmth and pressure registers over his lips, and then he realizes heâs being kissed. Wonwoo, brilliant, beautiful Wonwoo, is kissing him.
And so, hands behind his back to avoid temptation, Seungcheol makes a choice that isnât a choice at all.
He kisses back.
Re: [FILL] Apple of My Pie
Re: [FILL] Apple of My Pie