Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Minghao, Vernon/Minghao Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: parties, balconies, alcohol and cigarettes Permission to remix: Yes
***
“Hello.”
Wonwoo snubs his cigarette underneath the sole of his shoe. The embers scattered on the tile of the balcony, all unimpressive greys and blacks with no indication of catching fire again.
“Hi,” Wonwoo replies, pulling his head back a distance.
Minghao would always reel at the smell sticking to Wonwoo’s shirt after work. On particularly rainy days, it accompanied every word parting from Wonwoo’s mouth—and yet, Minghao would always pull him in for a kiss, then.
Wonwoo expects a reprimand here, right in between the gaps of silence. But none came. The red dusting Minghao’s cheeks is a crimson bloom against the haze of Seoul’s dusk.
Minghao has always been giggly when inebriated. In these rare moments, his hands roamed braver, touches more abundant, words freer.
This time, Minghao leans his back against the railing of the balcony, face bound skywards. He says nothing. He isn’t even smiling, lips a perfect line. Hands kept close to his torso.
Wonwoo looks away, vision zeroing on the low hanging moon in the distance. Not voluntarily.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
That isn’t true. It’s supposed to be: I knew I’d find you here
Wonwoo shrugs, “I’m not into parties.”
He says it as though it’s their first time on this balcony. The amount of words exchanged is not much different though, and the silence is familiar, if only more unpleasant. It might as well be their first time.
“Not even when it’s mine?”
They were strangers when they first met. Wonwoo remembers the aftertaste of their encounter, the kindling warmth of: I’m glad you found me here. Only nicotine lingers on his tongue now, and he wants it to overtake his senses.
“Aren’t you supposed to be inside? It’s a celebration for your white coat ceremony, after all.” Wonwoo asks back, already fishing out another stick. Any other time, Minghao would get to it first before Wonwoo could light it. The fire flickers into nothing. He pockets his cigarette, puts his lighter down on the railing.
“You’re right.” Minghao moves, standing up straight. “I should.”
Don’t go, Wonwoo wants to say. The words are lead in his throat.
“Congratulations,” Wonwoo says instead, “I always knew you’d make it.”
He always knew. He knows, he knows, of course he knows. He’d been there during the sleepless nights, during the frantic translating of medical terms he could barely understand into Minghao’s mother tongue, during the quiet nights at the park, the much needed breaks where Minghao’s head make landfall on one of his shoulders.
“Thanks.”
When Minghao smiles, Wonwoo recognises the hesitance. The creases of his eyes disappear after a second, and Minghao stays standing there, halfway to the door. It’s not the congratulations he want.
Wonwoo makes no move, even when Minghao frowns at the refusal. An expression Wonwoo never sees when the other was intoxicated.
In the end, Minghao doesn’t leave on his own. A fact Wonwoo both hates and is glad for. But it’s more so the latter, a fact he hates even more.
The door slides open, and Hansol blinks as soon as he spotted Wonwoo. Before he makes any discernible expression, his eyes find Minghao in the middle, between them.
Something ignited, right then. Not in Wonwoo, he doesn’t think anything will again.
Minghao bridges the distance to the door with haste. His previous inhibitions all gone with the new presence.
“Everyone’s waiting for you,” Hansol says, “They want you to blow the candles on your cake.”
“Cake and candles? It’s not my birthday.”
“No. It’s not, but it’s a new chapter in your life, so it’s pretty much like a new age for you, isn’t it?”
Without me, is something unsaid, but Wonwoo doesn’t need it to be.
“Okay. You’re right.” Minghao nods, smiling now.
They both disappear, door closing with a click behind them.
Wonwoo is alone again, back to where he was before, but not quite. His gaze finds the moon now, following its slow, lonely ascent through the sky. He touches around for his lighter to find none. Ah, he must’ve knocked it over the railing by accident.
Cheers erupt behind him, loud and boisterous and full of heart—everything Minghao deserves.
He leaves his box of cigarettes, hoping gravity would rid of it, as it did his lighter, before anyone else does.
[FILL] dawning dusk
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: parties, balconies, alcohol and cigarettes
Permission to remix: Yes
***
“Hello.”
Wonwoo snubs his cigarette underneath the sole of his shoe. The embers scattered on the tile of the balcony, all unimpressive greys and blacks with no indication of catching fire again.
“Hi,” Wonwoo replies, pulling his head back a distance.
Minghao would always reel at the smell sticking to Wonwoo’s shirt after work. On particularly rainy days, it accompanied every word parting from Wonwoo’s mouth—and yet, Minghao would always pull him in for a kiss, then.
Wonwoo expects a reprimand here, right in between the gaps of silence. But none came. The red dusting Minghao’s cheeks is a crimson bloom against the haze of Seoul’s dusk.
Minghao has always been giggly when inebriated. In these rare moments, his hands roamed braver, touches more abundant, words freer.
This time, Minghao leans his back against the railing of the balcony, face bound skywards. He says nothing. He isn’t even smiling, lips a perfect line. Hands kept close to his torso.
Wonwoo looks away, vision zeroing on the low hanging moon in the distance. Not voluntarily.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
That isn’t true. It’s supposed to be: I knew I’d find you here
Wonwoo shrugs, “I’m not into parties.”
He says it as though it’s their first time on this balcony. The amount of words exchanged is not much different though, and the silence is familiar, if only more unpleasant. It might as well be their first time.
“Not even when it’s mine?”
They were strangers when they first met. Wonwoo remembers the aftertaste of their encounter, the kindling warmth of: I’m glad you found me here. Only nicotine lingers on his tongue now, and he wants it to overtake his senses.
“Aren’t you supposed to be inside? It’s a celebration for your white coat ceremony, after all.” Wonwoo asks back, already fishing out another stick. Any other time, Minghao would get to it first before Wonwoo could light it. The fire flickers into nothing. He pockets his cigarette, puts his lighter down on the railing.
“You’re right.” Minghao moves, standing up straight. “I should.”
Don’t go, Wonwoo wants to say. The words are lead in his throat.
“Congratulations,” Wonwoo says instead, “I always knew you’d make it.”
He always knew. He knows, he knows, of course he knows. He’d been there during the sleepless nights, during the frantic translating of medical terms he could barely understand into Minghao’s mother tongue, during the quiet nights at the park, the much needed breaks where Minghao’s head make landfall on one of his shoulders.
“Thanks.”
When Minghao smiles, Wonwoo recognises the hesitance. The creases of his eyes disappear after a second, and Minghao stays standing there, halfway to the door. It’s not the congratulations he want.
Wonwoo makes no move, even when Minghao frowns at the refusal. An expression Wonwoo never sees when the other was intoxicated.
In the end, Minghao doesn’t leave on his own. A fact Wonwoo both hates and is glad for. But it’s more so the latter, a fact he hates even more.
The door slides open, and Hansol blinks as soon as he spotted Wonwoo. Before he makes any discernible expression, his eyes find Minghao in the middle, between them.
Something ignited, right then. Not in Wonwoo, he doesn’t think anything will again.
Minghao bridges the distance to the door with haste. His previous inhibitions all gone with the new presence.
“Everyone’s waiting for you,” Hansol says, “They want you to blow the candles on your cake.”
“Cake and candles? It’s not my birthday.”
“No. It’s not, but it’s a new chapter in your life, so it’s pretty much like a new age for you, isn’t it?”
Without me, is something unsaid, but Wonwoo doesn’t need it to be.
“Okay. You’re right.” Minghao nods, smiling now.
They both disappear, door closing with a click behind them.
Wonwoo is alone again, back to where he was before, but not quite. His gaze finds the moon now, following its slow, lonely ascent through the sky. He touches around for his lighter to find none. Ah, he must’ve knocked it over the railing by accident.
Cheers erupt behind him, loud and boisterous and full of heart—everything Minghao deserves.
He leaves his box of cigarettes, hoping gravity would rid of it, as it did his lighter, before anyone else does.