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writetomyheart2015-08-28 09:07 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-08-28 09:07 pm
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[team five] 사랑은 벚꽃처럼
Title from Let Me Know by BTS.
I apologize for the delay in this post; we're currently three members and I've been swamped, but it seemed pointless to roll it over right away only to have a chain of skips. I hope that's okay!
A perfect way to start the day is tiptoeing around the house, fixing mostly edible breakfast and managing to only scorch the toast a tiny little bit and only breaking one plate by dropping it on the floor because his fingers greasy from buttering the toast.
Henry grins at the breakfast table, and the mostly respectable kitchen. There are the shards of a porcelain plate wrapped in newspaper in the kitchen waste bin, and he feels proud for remembering that he can't just toss them in with the rest of the garbage. He also washed the dishes and if the floor under the sink is a little wet, they'll hopefully be too busy eating breakfast for Yixing to notice.
It's strange though, that Yixing isn't awake yet. Henry pauses, checks the clock over the window. It's ten o'clock and the fact that Yixing is still sleeping is almost. . .alarming.
Henry hangs the towel up and tiptoes down the hallway, because if Yixing is still sleeping that means he's probably sick and shouldn't be woken up. He doesn't sleep enough anyway, especially on weekends which as far as Henry is concerned should be for sleeping and late lunch at three o'clock, but Yixing always has a list of things to do around the house and so Henry tries to wake up early and cut the list down a bit before Yixing wakes up.
Sure enough, Yixing is still in bed, curled around the stuffed panda bear they picked up at the carnival last year, when Yixing managed to spare the time. They haven't had time lately though; and Henry feels sad, tracing his finger over Yixing's flushed forehead. He's running a low-grade fever and Henry pulls the comforter away, leaving only the sheet before slipping over the the ensuite to wet a cloth in cold water to lay on Yixing's forehead.
Yixing opens his eyes a crack as the compress settles on his forehead, and Henry is disappointed that he woke up, but all Yixing does is smile up at him and Henry can't resist leaning over to press a soft kiss to Yixing's nose, who only wrinkles it up in a sleepy smile.
"Go back to sleep," Henry whispers, and Yixing shivers at the feeling of warm breath tickling his ear and neck but settled into Henry's arms anyway as he curls around him, resting his forehead on Yixing's back.
"What about breakfast?" Yixing mumbles, mostly dreaming already so his words come out garbled, passing through the spinning mass of his subconcious. He knows that Henry always makes breakfast on Saturdays, and the fact that Yixing remembers, even though he's sick, puts a warm glow in Henry's chest.
"We can have it for supper," he says, and arranges the sheet over the pair of them, before draping his arm over Yixing's side, settling into his sleepy warmth. Yixing only hums in agreement before his breathing settles into slow inhalation and exhalations, the faintest spiral of a rasp as he exhales, and Henry just lies there and basks in the the twoness of them.
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nachtegael
I apologize for the delay in this post; we're currently three members and I've been swamped, but it seemed pointless to roll it over right away only to have a chain of skips. I hope that's okay!
A perfect way to start the day is tiptoeing around the house, fixing mostly edible breakfast and managing to only scorch the toast a tiny little bit and only breaking one plate by dropping it on the floor because his fingers greasy from buttering the toast.
Henry grins at the breakfast table, and the mostly respectable kitchen. There are the shards of a porcelain plate wrapped in newspaper in the kitchen waste bin, and he feels proud for remembering that he can't just toss them in with the rest of the garbage. He also washed the dishes and if the floor under the sink is a little wet, they'll hopefully be too busy eating breakfast for Yixing to notice.
It's strange though, that Yixing isn't awake yet. Henry pauses, checks the clock over the window. It's ten o'clock and the fact that Yixing is still sleeping is almost. . .alarming.
Henry hangs the towel up and tiptoes down the hallway, because if Yixing is still sleeping that means he's probably sick and shouldn't be woken up. He doesn't sleep enough anyway, especially on weekends which as far as Henry is concerned should be for sleeping and late lunch at three o'clock, but Yixing always has a list of things to do around the house and so Henry tries to wake up early and cut the list down a bit before Yixing wakes up.
Sure enough, Yixing is still in bed, curled around the stuffed panda bear they picked up at the carnival last year, when Yixing managed to spare the time. They haven't had time lately though; and Henry feels sad, tracing his finger over Yixing's flushed forehead. He's running a low-grade fever and Henry pulls the comforter away, leaving only the sheet before slipping over the the ensuite to wet a cloth in cold water to lay on Yixing's forehead.
Yixing opens his eyes a crack as the compress settles on his forehead, and Henry is disappointed that he woke up, but all Yixing does is smile up at him and Henry can't resist leaning over to press a soft kiss to Yixing's nose, who only wrinkles it up in a sleepy smile.
"Go back to sleep," Henry whispers, and Yixing shivers at the feeling of warm breath tickling his ear and neck but settled into Henry's arms anyway as he curls around him, resting his forehead on Yixing's back.
"What about breakfast?" Yixing mumbles, mostly dreaming already so his words come out garbled, passing through the spinning mass of his subconcious. He knows that Henry always makes breakfast on Saturdays, and the fact that Yixing remembers, even though he's sick, puts a warm glow in Henry's chest.
"We can have it for supper," he says, and arranges the sheet over the pair of them, before draping his arm over Yixing's side, settling into his sleepy warmth. Yixing only hums in agreement before his breathing settles into slow inhalation and exhalations, the faintest spiral of a rasp as he exhales, and Henry just lies there and basks in the the twoness of them.
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nachtegael
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